‘This guy looks more like a mafia henchman than a secretary.’
Cesare thought, but he held back the remark and simply shrugged, genuinely bewildered.
“What kind of negotiation are we talking about here? Well, I guess I don’t have a choice, so come on in. Paparazzi are everywhere, so there’s no point standing out here in the open. And of course, that flashy chopper of yours has probably been snapped a dozen times already.”
Zahir’s secretary looked over the spacious garden, refreshing pool, sunlit tennis court, quaint mansion, and light driving course, all enclosed by a high fence.
The helicopter pad on the rooftop stood well above the fence, with considerable distance between them.
Capturing a clear shot of a face without breaching the fence or using a journalistic helicopter seemed almost impossible.
“More of a castle than a mansion.”
The man voiced his impression briefly before turning his attention back to Cesare.
