Seven clean-cut men — seven suits of varying shades of black — filled a small section of the auditorium chairs, listening to Peter Wesell pontificate on the matchless benefits of Wesell Global’s universal marketing strategy. At the end of forty minutes, one of the suited men raised his hand and stood when Wesell called on him.
“Your marketing success is fine, I’m sure, Mr. Wesell, but what does this have to do with a cadre of former CIA assassins like us?”
Wesell smiled, not an altogether pleasant expression when formed on his face.
“Why, my dear fellow, every good draftsman owns erasers.”