The Porsche landed on the street in front of the mansion so smoothly that Lohan smiled to himself, and he stayed still for a few seconds, hands on the wheel, waiting for the car to finish settling before turning off the engine.
There were ten minutes left until the agreed time.
He had calculated everything precisely, the route, the air traffic, the small delays that always happened, and even so he had arrived with a margin that made him feel ridiculous.
But he preferred ridiculous to late, especially after Isabella's teasing about the barbecue, and especially after having spent his whole life in a hospital bed waiting for time to pass.
He looked at the entrance of the house through the windshield, the large wrought iron gate, the well kept garden, the elegant lampposts, and the landing space in front of the main door.
Empty.
