The Maybach waited at the curb like a panther in tuxedo paint, its driver standing so still he might as well have been auditioning for Buckingham Palace guard duty.
"I need the keys," I said. No explanation, no preamble.
He handed them over instantly, the kind of professional who understood that sometimes the smartest move was not to ask why the man in the tuxedo suddenly needed the million-dollar toy.
Flexibility: priceless.
"Laptop's in the back," I told Soo-Jin as we slid into the leather cocoon. "You're about to meet ARIA. She'll help narrow down Margaret's location."
Her eyes lit up when she saw the machine, fingers stroking the brushed metal like it was some forbidden lover. "Very nice computer," she said. "Much better than what bad men give me."
"Bad men cut corners. I don't." I started the engine, guiding the car into Miami's late-night snarl. Neon lights smeared across the windshield, the city dripping its usual cocktail of wealth and rot.
