Henderson is in Phoenix, Arizona. He calls a real estate agent named William. They go see two properties. The first one is ideal. Nice finishes, good floor plan, easy to resell later. The second one is a dump.
Henderson walks into what sounds like a Bond villain lair. Steel gates. Blast-proof doors. Metal detectors. Backscatter machines. Guards you can see and guards you cannot. He is deep underground in Singapore, inside the Freeport. One of the most secure private vaults on the planet.
Henderson walks into a Romanian bank. He has his passport. That is it. Twenty-five minutes later he has a fully functional bank account. The banker, Teodora, looks at him like he is crazy when he acts surprised. “Why would it not be easy?” she asks.