Exiting my apartment I’m greeted by a tall chauffeur standing by a luxurious town car. His clothes are immaculate and his demeanour I would describe as friendly, but unassuming. As soon as he sees me, he opens the door to the backseat and holds it open for me.
“Miss Aconite, I have been instructed to be your escort for the evening,” he says with a Peruvian accent, tipping his hat politely.
“The entire evening?” I query as I walk to the car, tucking my clutch under my arm.
“Yes, ma’am. I am to drive you to the airstrip where a jet will fly you to Germany. From there, I will drive you to where you will join Mr Guardian in Berlin for dinner this evening.”
Mr Guardian. My mother will love that she was right in picking up on a third alias, but I’m still not sure if Lamar Guardian is Sathari
