The Dollar That Opened the Door

“No,” I said calmly. “It’s a pattern.”

I reached forward and finally touched the folder he’d slid across the table—but instead of opening it, I pushed it back toward him.

“You’ve been very busy,” I continued. “Gas stations. Coffee counters. Friendly conversations. You don’t rush them. You don’t scare them. You earn trust first.”

His jaw tightened.

“I don’t know what you think you—”

“Let me finish.”