I sat in the back seat of my car, the glass of scotch untouched in the cupholder. Rain smudged across the window like someone dragging their fingers through ink. I could see the realtor waiting at the gated entrance, holding an umbrella and trying not to look nervous. He was young, in his mid-thirties, maybe thirty-seven years almost. He wore a black designer trench coat, he looked to me like the kind of guy who smiled too much and knew the price of everything and the value of nothing.
My car came to a stop at the entrance of the gate and the realtor ran up to the car and opened the door for me.
“Let’s make this quick,” I muttered to James, my driver, before stepping out into the drizzle while the realtor held the umbrella over me.
The property was tucked just outside the city, it was f
