68
Martin da Silva turns down the volume on his Audi’s stereo as he always does just before turning off the engine. It was a force of habit, and he knew it, but it still didn’t stop him.
He opens the door and steps out into the cold, damp night air. It was much as he expected from a November night in Carlisle, but at least he’d go home tomorrow afternoon with a ten-grand Christmas bonus if he managed to complete the Granex deal at tomorrow’s meeting. He knew he would. He always managed to complete deals, and this one was a dead cert.
He’d get himself a new suit with the cash, he told himself. The Armani number he was wearing right now was at least two years old, and it was about time he treated himself. Thanks to inheriting his father’s Hispanic good looks, a smart designer suit was alm
