“Another glass?” Holding up an uncorked bottle of Australian chardonnay, Sherman L. Phannt smiled amiably. He certainly dressed the part of a successful financial broker. His suit screamed Armani, as did the cologne; it had been applied with a ladle. A layer of make-up on a root-shaped face did little to conceal acne scars, but if it had been thicker and a shade more natural, it might have worked.
Rey held forth a Baccarat pure lead crystal wineglass (of course, she"d checked) and batted long mascara-enhanced lashes. “I must say, Sherm, you are so unlike any other financial advisor I"ve worked with.”
The forty-year-old had greeted us at frosty-glassed gilt-lettered doors before we could knock, thanks to Ben the Security Guard, who"d phoned the office to announce the arrival of three inve
