The people in this book are not real.
Mason Vale and his motionless jet. Sienna Cole and her immortal, nightly-expiring bonus. Arlo, pivoting for the fourth time before lunch. Every guru in these twelve chapters was invented at a desk.
Any resemblance to a specific person you happen to follow online is a coincidence, though I will admit it is a slightly uncomfortable one.
Because while the names are made up, the types are not. That is the whole idea. The characters are fiction. The industry is not.
It is harder than you would think to put a clean number on this industry, because nobody measures “men selling freedom from the bonnet of a rented car” as a category of its own.
But you can measure the container it sits inside.

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