“I’m in my office at the house,” he says. “I just gave the kids a bath . . . Now, back to work.” “What time is it in Asia, anyway?” I say. Jim is quiet, thinking. “Hell, I don’t even know. I accept the Outlook invite, I get on the phone, I kick ass. That’s the job. Karate lessons and Range Rovers don’t pay for themselves. Anyway, they’re supposed to call . . . um . . . thirty seconds ago.
