“How’s that?”
“Our lifejackets,” my Albanian foreman continues. “They give our customers confidence to attempt the Channel crossing. It’s lucrative genius.”
We continue inspecting my warehouse-stroke-sweatshop. Foam cut to size, stitched inside orange polyester, smuggled across to Calais. Simple.
“Do you reckon our lifejackets actually work?” Milif asks.
In answer, a text arrives from my lorry driver in France. A boatload of migrants has gone down wearing our lifejackets. No survivors.
“Maybe we should relocate to Turkey to take advantage of migrant traffic headed for Italy,” I tell Milif.