His white hair was neatly bed back from a deeply tanned； severely lined face。 A gold wedding
band winked from his wrinkled； leathery hand。 As Nate approached； the man stood and gripped
Nate？s palm。
？Nate Archibald。 You？re the spitting image of your father；？ Chips growled with a Scottish accent。
He looked at Nate with crinkly…lidded blue eyes beneath bushy white brows； and motioned to the
leather…cushioned chair across from his。 ？Sit。 Have a drink。？ Chips sat back down and gestured to
the waiter； a man in his forties with neatly bed sandy hair falling over a wide forehead。 Chips
pointed at his glassful of amber…colored liquid and held up two wizened fingers。 ？You like scotch？？
He cocked an eyebrow at Nate。
？Sure。？ Nate shuffled his legs under the table。 ？Anything？s fine。？ The waiter leaned in； speaking
softly。 ？I？m sorry； sir；？ he whispered apologetically。 ？I？m going to need to see some ID。？ Nate
paused for a second； feeling like he？d been trapped。 He？d already agreed to have scotch； but now
he？d have to show his fake ID。 Was Chips setting him up？ He gulped and reached into the back
pocket of his cargo shorts； retrieving the battered brown leather wallet his dad had given him for
his sixteenth birthday。 He pulled out the fake ID he？d gotten off the Internet。 It looked pretty good；
and it usually worked？except for the fact they？d mixed up the hair and eyes categories； so