9
In the evening, Olivier was driving home in his company car and had just finished a conversation on the speaker in Japanese: “Yes. And once again, thank you for letting me know about Mr. Turner’s Japanese trip. Yes, Sakuraba-san. Have a good evening.”
As Olivier was approaching his house, his mobile device asked if it should open the garage door. Olivier approved it with the push of a button on the screen. His car automatically pulled into the subterranean garage and stopped near a top range model jet black Kawasaki, and a convertible Corvette of indeterminate colour. Depending on the lighting, it was somewhere between metallic maroon and crimson. In the shadows of the garage, from a certain angle it looked black, while under the blazing sun it was rather blood-red.
Olivier’s house, h
