The corridor lights are dim, in keeping with the AFC's commitment to a green world.
The lock clicks. Jared is wearing a smoking jacket, velvet slippers, and a silky lounge pants. He glances left, right, and peers at his unwelcome visitor.
"CARTER Page?" he whispered.
"Yeah, bro. Carter Page. He did 2 years in Florence. They say he's..."
Jared interrupted, "...they say he's WHAT?"
"They say he got into weights. That he's swolt.
"Swolt? What is that?"
"For me? We'll see about that. I do yoga twice a week, and my cardio is excellent."
Martin can't believe what he's hearing.
Jared shushed Martin. "You know I don't like that language."
"Fine...but he's coming here. We need allies. You gotta rally your homies, homie."
"I prefer to think of them as associates."
Kushner, confused, said, "The ones of me as an 18th-century French shepherdess?" Martin shakes his head behind Jared's back.
Kushner whispered, "Page is coming. Here. I..." he pauses. "I...need your help."
[TO BE CONTINUED]