“Where to?” “The Four Seasons.” “It’s between Park and Madison, right?” The driver was Russian. She could tell from the accent. “Yes,” she said in Russian. “What street?” “Fifty-eighth.” They got out of the airport, and he said, “Nice place.” “The airport?” “No, the Four Seasons.” She nodded. It was a nice place, one of her favorites. They called that stretch of the street Billionaire’s Row. Rooms started at a thousand a night. There was a penthouse suite, the third most expensive in the world according to the hotel’s website, that was over sixty thousand. According to Agency legend,
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