Geneva in November was exactly as I remembered it.
Cold. Precise. Beautiful in the particular way of cities that have witnessed centuries of significant things and developed a kind of architectural calm about their own importance.
We flew in on a Wednesday me, Dante, Elena Rose, James, young Dante Castellano, and Morrison, who'd insisted on accompanying us in an official capacity that we'd negotiated carefully with Caroline's intermediaries.
"She agreed to Morrison's presence?" Elena Rose had asked when I told her.
"She suggested it. Said if this is genuinely what she claims, having FBI presence at the initial presentation demonstrates exactly the kind of willingness to operate transparently that she wants to establish as foundational."
"Or it demonstrates sophisticated manipulation of appearances."
"Yes. That too. Which is why we're all going with complete skepticism intact and our eyes completely open."
