Dawn broke early over Hong Kong, the sunlight harsh and glaring.
I swallowed my antacids and splashed cold water on my face, fighting the shadows under my eyes and the queasy turn in my stomach.
I applied a light layer of makeup, just enough to look polished.
At exactly nine, Roy's Bentley pulled up at the hotel entrance.
I slid into the passenger seat.
"Tiangong Atelier profile. Review it on the way."
Roy handed her the tablet, tapping the screen.
"Their craftsmen are old masters, European-trained. Top-tier skill, even bigger attitudes. They won't budge on five hundred thousand upfront, a thirty-five day minimum. No negotiation."
He paused.
"Baohua is worse. Forty days, seventy percent deposit."
I scrolled through images of Tiangong's past work. The craftsmanship was exquisite.
