Chapter Twenty-Three
Day Ten
Edgar never slept past six-thirty in the morning. Even when on vacation he was too driven to lie around in bed while the world grew light and there was money to be made. He took his time bathing and dressing of course. The only novel he’d read since fulfilling his high school literature requirement was Bret Easton Ellis’ American Psycho. It had tickled him to read the exhaustive detail with which Ellis had described the protagonist’s daily hygiene routine, right to the brands of the various cleansing products and the correct procedures for using them.
It was funny because it was true: appearances counted for as much on Wall Street as they did in Hollywood, or a Milan fashion show. Everything had to be perfect. He used the intercom to place his breakfast orde
