The following morning as Rhea reached work she noticed, a mid-height, well-built man was pacing outside Aron’s office. The man looked extremely familiar but she could not put her finger on where she had seen him. Suddenly the man’s phone rang and as he raised his hand to his ears, covering the view of his eyes and his broad forehead, to talk over the phone, Rhea realised that he resembled of Benjamin Artines.
He seemed to be at his early thirties but was dressed like a 25 years old punk rock enthusiast trying to copy a government employee at his mid-forties. His skin-tight black jeans were at such odds with his lapel suit with elbow patches that it gave away the impression of a clueless graduate appearing for his first job interview. As if he had thrown in grown up clothes over the only
