“I’m sure,” she replied.
“Several other brokers are scheduled to see it this week.”
“Is that so? But I’m the first to see it, right?” Mia asked, as if this had any importance.
“You are,” confirmed Francisco, solemnly. Then, with more pep, he added, “And I think you’ll be impressed.”
They passed a few smaller boats, some sailboats and an RIB, but apart from a couple snapping selfies beneath the sailcloth of a monohull, the dock was clear.
“So ... where’s your office based, if you don’t mind me asking?” he asked.
“Monaco,” she replied.
He stopped mid-stride.
“Monaco? Really? Which brokerage?” he asked.
“Fraser Yachts,” she replied, naming the largest full-service yacht brokerage firm in the world.
Francisco’s eyebrows shot up. “No way. I was in Monaco last year and stopped by your offices. I didn’t—”
Mia cut him off. “I’ve only been with them for six weeks,” she said, her pulse spiking.
“That explains it,” he said, almost to himself. “Well ... you have my dream job. I’d love to work in Monaco someday. How did you end up there?”
Mia offered him a polite smile as they got closer to the boat. “It’s not quite the dream you think it is,” she said.
“No? How come?”
“I’d be happy to fill you in later, if you want,” she replied, quickly glancing at her watch. “But I’ve got a noon meeting, and I’d really love to see this one.”
Francisco recovered quickly and gestured toward the Navetta, now only two berths away. “Absolutely. It’s a gorgeous yacht, and its layout is super efficient. You’ll see.”
At the base of the passerelle, he slipped off his loafers and set them neatly by a beige mat left there for that specific purpose. Mia mirrored his gesture and followed him onto the boat.
“The swim platform is hydraulic,” Francisco said, “and the owner has equipped the transom with a barbecue and a bar.”
She nodded. While she couldn’t care less about the yacht, she had to admit it was stunning. The aft deck was shaded and staged with ateak table and four chairs, connected with the galley through a pair of large sliding glass doors.
“Francisco,” Mia said, touching the man’s arm. “Quick question for you.”
“I’m listening.”
“My client is someone who values his privacy, if you know what I mean,” she said, giving him a knowing look. “So, if we were to move ahead with the purchase, and we might, because I really like what I’m seeing, I was wondering how your brokerage handles these sorts of ... situations.”
“I understand. Listen, Miss Torres—”
“Mia, please.”
Francisco smiled, then said, “We have plenty of clients who are in the same situation, Mia. This isn’t a problem for us. Over the years, we’ve figured out legal ways to keep the names of our customers buried. It’s a bit more expensive, maybe another percent and a half, but for certain people, it’s well worth it. And for added privacy, we keep all records of our transactions on a private server that isn’t connected to the internet. Nothing, and I truly mean that, gets uploaded to the cloud.”
“That’s great to hear. And what about the payments?” Mia asked.
“Well ... there are two options. Our brokerage deals with local banks here in Valencia, but for our clients who prefer a tad more discretion, we’ve partnered with a Swiss bank that can handle the financial transactions, but only if the money comes from outside Spanish borders.”
Now it was her turn to smile. “That’s perfect.”
“Great. Should we start with the upper deck?” Francisco asked, his hand already on the polished steel handrails.
