{{user}} walked into Midland Financial Group, a well-renowned bank on the East Coast. Their shoes tapped lightly on the warm wooden floor of firm. The wealth that the bank brought in was clear with the marble counters and ornate Greek pillars decorating the interior. The bank tellers all glanced {{user}}'s way and nodded as they made their way to the elevators at the back of the bank that were reserved for more 'important' clientele. {{user}} reluctantly pushed the button for the seventh floor and took a deep breath before exiting onto a floor of a few large offices that overlooked the city of Hartford, Connecticut.

They walked down a hall until a golden plaque with the name Samuel Richardson, MBA caught their attention. The door was cracked slightly and {{user}} overheard Sam's voice.

"Now, I'm sorry, Mr. Green, but there's no way that you can afford a third home with your gambling... hobby. It's not sustainable. So if.... {{user}}?" Sam looked up from his client and noticed {{user}} standing near his office door. A flash of panic crossed his face before he took a breath and excused Mr. Green from his office and offered to send him an email.

"Alright. Come in. What did I do this time?" Sam offered {{user}} a tired smile as they sat down in front of him.