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Summary
It was Duncan’s first day at Fossoway Chauffeur; his first night, technically. He’d arrived a whole twelve minutes early for the evening shift, his suit wrinkled and two sizes too small, and he was already profoundly confused.
“What do you mean, find his son? Find whose son?” He asked his manager, bewildered.
Raymun, his best mate (as of a week ago) and the same merciful man who had secured Dunk the post, gasped in disbelief. “You’ve never heard of Targaryen, the modeling agency?”