Miles from any major city, deep within a desolate stretch of the Nevada desert, Richard's android doppelganger, accompanied by a small detail of human security, stepped out of a sleek, private jet onto a dusty, isolated airstrip. The air was hot, still, and heavy with the scent of dry earth. Waiting beside a polished black limousine was a man with a neatly trimmed beard and sharp, European features, impeccably dressed despite the oppressive heat.
"Mr. Santamo," the man greeted, extending a hand. His grip was firm, surprisingly strong. "I've been expecting you. I must congratulate you again for your incredibly successful business ventures. My name is Lex Martin, a representative of the Rothschild family."
The doppelganger, programmed for meticulously feigned surprise, offered a pleasant, acknowledging smile. "Mr. Martin. The pleasure is mine. Your reputation precedes you."
Lex Martin gestured towards a massive, unassuming hangar nearby. "If you'd follow me, please."
