Julian held his wrist up, letting the holographic face of his new watch cast a swirling, cosmic glow on the faces of the bounty hunters around him.
He was the center of attention.
He was the sun, and they were just a collection of grimy, violent little planets orbiting his magnificence.
He loved this feeling.
"So, you see," he said, his voice dripping with the kind of smug satisfaction that could curdle milk.
"This isn't just a watch."
"It's a statement."
"It says that the Cross family is always one step ahead."
"Always."
Miles, listening from the diner, felt a wave of nausea.
"Oh, please," he thought, a grimace on his face.
"It's a statement, alright."
"It says, 'I have more money than sense and the fashion taste of a Bond villain's idiot son'."
The clone, however, was not just listening.
It was moving.
It picked up a tray from a nearby service station.
On the tray were two glasses of what looked like very expensive, very bubbly champagne.
