I PULLED INTO THE PARKING LOT in front of the address Alex had left me at a quarter to eight. My car, a beaten-down, rusty Honda Civic, had seen better days. It looked like it had survived at least two wars and a nuclear explosion. It rattled and groaned like an old cigarette smoker, but it was still reliable and took me anywhere I needed to go. I pushed the door open, breathing in the crisp evening air.
The apartment building Alex had sent me to looked like it came straight out of a celebrity magazine. Surrounded by windows all around, hyper-modern and sparkling clean, it wouldn’t surprise me if an architect had planted it here this morning. The parking lot was stacked with expensive cars. I spotted a few Jaguars, and at least one Ferrari. My old-timer looked entirely out of place betwee
