Later that afternoon, the scheme was already set in motion.
A black sedan pulled up to the curved driveway of the Steele Complex. Out stepped a man and a woman, both dressed in sharp business attire that screamed old-money confidence.
The man, tall and broad-shouldered with salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard, wore a tailored navy suit, his tie a subtle silk pattern that caught the light.
His companion, a striking woman in her mid-thirties with auburn hair pinned in an elegant chignon and piercing green eyes, sported a fitted gray pencil skirt and blazer.
They both carried leather briefcases, and they looked all business and no pleasure. At least that was what their expressions gave off: polished enthusiasm and calculated poise.
They had badges of the company they represented, something called Morris & The Scottish. They were agents.
Of course Morris & The Scottish wasn't a real company. It was a hoax that Adam Scotland had created just for this very scheme.
