The air inside the private terminal at Frankfurt Airport was thick with the scent of aviation fuel, wet asphalt, and dark roasted arabica.
By 8:30 AM, the rain over Hesse had settled into a steady, gray mist. Outside the floor-to-ceiling glass of the departure lounge, the matte-black Gulfstream G650ER sat on the tarmac, its engines idling with a low, rhythmic vibration that hummed through the soles of my Italian leather boots.
I stood at the polished glass counter, reviewing the secondary clearing streams flowing into our Zurich core from the London pre-market open. My trench coat hung over the arm of a nearby velvet armchair; I wore a sharp, charcoal tailored blazer over a cream silk blouse, my dark hair pinned back into a flawless, tight chignon.
Across the low glass table, three glow
