Kelly’s POV
The car waiting outside when we stepped out of the San Francisco airport looked nothing like the taxis lined up along the curb. It sat a little apart from the rest, long and dark, polished to the point where the afternoon sun slides cleanly off its surface.
I didn't recognize the brand at first, because it wasn't as flashy or gaudy looking in the way I expect luxury to be. It was a Cadillac with no unnecessary shine, just quiet confidence on four wheels.
Michael walked straight to it as soon as he spotted the car, and the driver stepped out the moment Michael came into view, straightening his jacket as if pulled by an invisible string. He nods once in a respectful and professional manner.
“Welcome to San Francisco, sir,” he says. “Hope the flight was comfortable.”
“It was
