August 25, 2029
Makati, Pacific Marine Brokers
11:10 AM
Timothy walked through the quiet compound tucked behind the main road. The building looked plain. Frosted glass windows. A metal sign with the name Pacific Marine Brokers.
He stepped inside. Neutral walls. Polished floor. Framed certifications instead of photographs. A coffee machine humming in the corner. The receptionist looked up with no rehearsed smile.
"Good morning, sir. Appointment?"
"Guerrero. I spoke with Mr. Alvarez."
She called someone, then stood. "Conference Room Two."
The hallway was silent. Doors with printed labels—no logos. No marketing. It felt more like an insurance office than anything connected to boats.
A man waited in the room. Early fifties. Plain shirt. Slacks. No tie. He stood with a firm handshake.
"Mr. Guerrero. Good to finally meet you."
"Thanks for coming in," Timothy said.
"Marine buyers don't wait for weekdays," Alvarez replied. "They come when they decide. We stay ready."
