Oliver’s account ledger lay on his shop counter, held closed by his Robveral balance hex trade weights.
Every customer has a private account number, known only to him. He keeps meticulous records in fine-lined script penned by hand with an heirloom quill. The same pen his father used, and his father’s father, reaching back untold generations.
His profession is one of trade, facilitating exchanges between two interested parties. Oliver is renown for being a Finder. No matter the item, no matter how unorthodox or costly, Oliver can locate the it, and negotiate a deal.
Of course, along with these valuable commodities, Oliver trades in secrets. For his part of the contract, discretion and a short memory, his fees are exorbitant. Yet, his clients would never make claims of usury against him. No matter the price, the items his clients seek are worth whatever his rate.
Because no money exchanges hands, Oliver maintains plausible deniability if his business practices are ever questioned by regulatory agents. Exchanges, as they are arranged, may not have a monetary value, but to parties involved, they are invaluable.
Oliver peddles in revenge.
It doesn’t matter the reason or the means, Oliver can broker any trade. Each request carries a specific weight, and each trade must balance. That is Oliver’s gift, the measuring of these transactions.
What is a murder worth, or ruining a reputation. Is toppling a politician equal to destroying a corporation? There is a price to pay for unavenged wrongs, unfaithful lovers, betrayal and lies.
The bell over Oliver’s shop door rang, a silvery chime that signaled a client was awaiting his attention. What will it be today?