8
JEFFERSON
Jefferson Caine was on the 195, heading east. His face to the sun, and though he wore sunglasses the heat still beat against his neck and cheeks.
He lived in Palm Beach but not the Palm Beach – wasn’t in one of those airy mansions on the North End, but rather a one-bedroom off of Ocean Boulevard. Usually in the morning he made the drive to Little Havana, occasionally Wynwood; today he was headed to Chicago, but his flight wasn’t until late afternoon. So he pulled into a favorite Cuban spot and took out his phone.
His stocks were doing well. That was good. Usually they weren’t.
CIA resettlement. There was a time when the idea would have made Jefferson both laugh and cross himself out of superstition. He’d been in charge of Russia’s largest automotive concern then, and hones
