CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ilse watched closely as the director paced back and forth on a small wooden stage. A cheap green screen hung half-removed behind him as he directed some of the interns to slowly pack certain items into large, metal storage boxes.
The man wore sunglasses and had a pen tucked behind one ear. In one hand, he gripped a script which he waved about, displaying red ink marks all up and down the page.
“No, no!” he was speaking into a bluetooth earpiece. “That won’t do—it won’t! She’s too fat! Get me someone else.”
Sawyer stood to the side of the director, watching the man with a faint frown. He cleared his throat for the second time in as many minutes.
The director sighed, tapping a finger against his earpiece. “What was your name again?” he said, glancing at Tom.
“Agent Saw
