His full name was Nasser Ali Jahed. Before he came into this room—the converted wine cellar, as Chauncey had referred to it earlier—a pair of dark-skinned men with carefully trimmed black beards—Middle Eastern, Grace assumed, given their looks and the fact that they spoke to each other in what she was sure was Arabic—conducted a thorough search, their eyes blazing with urgency, looking for possible traps, the slightest whiff of danger. They conducted very thorough pat downs of Paul and Chauncey.

The men, she noticed, were armed.

Grace, half dozing and oddly content from the molly, watched them from the floor of her cell. The men didn’t speak to her, barely paid any attention to her. They glanced at her as though she were some common zoo animal they’d seen before, or simply a piece of furniture, and then invested their energy in a thorough inspection of her surroundings.

For what? Do they actually think I’m hiding some weapon in here?

Paul seemed relaxed. He stood with his hands behind his back, smiling, like he was holding a winning lottery ticket and was due, at any moment now, to collect the world’s largest cash prize. Chauncey watched the men furtively, acting like someone who could be subjected, on a whim, to an impromptu three-man prostate exam and then killed.

Several minutes after the armed men left, Nasser Ali Jahed appeared, alone. Given all the security fuss, Grace was expecting to see a tall, sleek-looking, and powerfully built man with a thick mane of black hair, dressed in a suit, shoes, and watch worth the price of a high-end BMW. She was right about the suit and watch, but Mr. Jahed, as Paul and Chauncey kept calling him, was small in stature and somewhat chubby—a nebbish, to use one of her father’s favorite Yiddish words. What was left of his gray hair was buzzed close to the scalp.

Mr. Jahed spoke perfect English, without even the slightest trace of an accent, his voice soft. “Again, I’d like to thank you both for thinking of me to be the first to consider your new business venture.”

“Of course,” Paul said. “And thank you again for meeting with us.”

“I do not want to rush this, but given the unusual weather circumstances, I think it would be best if we proceeded as quickly as possible. If I like what I see, then we can arrange a time, at my hotel, to go over the business side. Does that sound fair?”

“More than fair. Chauncey explained to you the reason behind our presentation method?”

“He did, yes. He explained everything to me in great detail.”

“Excellent. I don’t want to offend any religious sensibilities you may have regarding women’s appearances. I assure you, it’s for your benefit.”

Mr. Jahed grinned. “Fortunately, we’re not in Tehran.”

“The main side effect of my blood product—”

“Chauncey prepared me about what to expect. But thank you for your concern—and your discretion.” His tone said, Enough talking—let’s get to it.