If Agarwal’s smile had been any broader, he’d have swallowed his ears. "A Corvette, yes, Sharon. But a very special Corvette, a modified Corvette. This is a Callaway Twin Turbo." He caressed the sleek black hood. "A wonderful car, built in 1991, if you can believe it—sixty-two years ago. The engine is a five-point-seven V-eight, producing four-oh-three horsepower at forty-five hundred rpm, and five hundred seventy-five foot-pounds of torque at three thousand rpm." The statistics rolled off his tongue easily, almost lovingly. Sly knew how much joy he got from memorizing such minutiae. "Zero to a hundred kilometers per hour in four-point-eight seconds, lateral acceleration zero-point-ninety-four gravities, top speed"—he shrugged—"Well, I don’t know that, but probably almost three hundred kilometers per hour. A marvelous car. An absolute joy to restore."