You know what? Brent was feeling pretty good. He was actually feeling better than pretty good, he was feeling great.
It had been a while since he'd had alcohol this good. No fault of Karen and the others, but he'd been on the front lines. There was only so much that you could get out there on the city's dime. Brent had drank pretty good when he was in the city but this moment was even sweeter because it was his brother's fucking money.
Brent chuckled as he held the stem of the champagne flute in his hand, his real one, and glanced out the window of the armored car. His brother never traveled in anything less.
"To your liking, Brenton?" His brother asked, and Brent slid his gaze away from the city whizzing by the man sitting next to him. Brent did hate that he was made in his image, both in appearance and in genes, but there was only so much that he could do about that. Brent gave him a lazy, drunk smile, playing it up for everyone's sake.
