The alarm woke me way too early, but despite my desire to do nothing but stay in bed I got up and got ready for the day. I showered, dressed and packed, occasionally glancing over with envy at the bed where Emmy was sleeping peacefully.

I gave her a kiss and told her I’d be home late friday night and got a mumbled, “I love you. I miss you already,” in reply.

Smiling despite a bit of a hangover, I drove to the Van Nuys airport in a good mood, even though it was going to be a long couple of days away from home. The flight was quick and comfortable and it only took a few minutes to pick up my rental car- a lovely blue base-model Camry.

Recognizing my dismay at such a pedestrian car, I had to laugh at myself as I adjusted the seat and mirrors. That Camry was, by any objective standard, a nice car. It was clean, comfortable, and reasonably quiet inside- certainly quieter than either my Aston or Emmy’s X6.

It felt like a floaty boat, though, but oh, well. I wasn’t going to rail Mt Hamilton in the thing, now was I? It would do just fine for the two days I’d be in the South Bay.

Pulling into the office parking lot felt like coming home. I’d planned on coming up to the Bay Area office for a couple of days every other week or so, but this was the first time I’d been back since the move to Los Angeles and it had been almost three months. I’d successfully avoided making any in-person meeting plans up till now, but I couldn’t put it off any longer, so here I was, back in my old office, like I’d never been away.

After a quick check-in with the receptionist to let her know I was on track for my first meeting, I went upstairs and sat at my old desk in the corner office. It didn’t take long for a number of the old hands to stop by and say hello, a few asking for some face time to discuss one thing or another. Of course, I agreed, but I had a day full of meetings scheduled, so it would probably have to wait until tomorrow. Again, so familiar, but a little odd, too, since I’d grown used to the Santa Monica office by this point.

My first meeting of the day went well and we cleared one of the sticking points holding up a planned mixed-use development in Campbell that we’d been working on for over a year, which was a relief. Sure, it could all have been worked out by phone or email, but sometimes person-to-person is how things get accomplished.

My second meeting was going to be a lunch date at a classy Indian restaurant in Menlo Park that Emmy and I loved, which was good, but with a particularly difficult client, which was bad. Still, I hadn’t had any good Indian food since moving to Los Angeles, and maybe this meeting would be productive…

Edward Burke was just getting out of his Bentley when I pulled into the parking lot in my Camry, and he couldn’t resist a jab at the car.

“Decided to upgrade from your Aston Martin?” he said, eyeing the dark blue Toyota disdainfully.

“I needed something more reliable,” I said, shrugging. There was no point in getting defensive with this guy- maybe just rolling with it would defuse his personality a bit. I followed Mr. Burke inside, a bit surprised he held the door open for me. The guy was old-school arrogant, and to him, the only real gauge of a person’s worth was their bank account. I’m pretty sure that meant by this point that I was his better, but it sure wouldn’t do me much good to point that out.

The dimly lit, very red restaurant was packed with tech industry types, making the business attire worn by Mr. Burke and myself stand out as we walked to a booth in the back, following the hostess. Walking through the narrow gaps between the tables, I spotted Andrej Marković and gave him a fist bump as I passed by.

“See you at the club tomorrow night?” I asked.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

“How do you know that guy?” Mr. Burke asked, looking over at Andrej, taking in his ratty jeans and Gogol Bordello T shirt.

“He’s an investor,” I said with a shrug, not pointing out the fact that in that respect, Andrej and Burke were the same as far as I was concerned. Except I liked Andrej more.

“Really,” Mr. Burke said.

“Last I checked, he has a little over twenty million in the REIT,” I confirmed.

“That guy?” Mr. Burke asked, surprised.

“That guy is a VP of some sort at Google,” I said. “His vested shares are worth over a hundred million.”

“Hmm…” was all Mr. Burke could come back with.

After giving the waitress our orders, Mr. Burke got right down to business. “Look, Ms. Farmer, I won’t beat around the bush. Your return on your REIT has been good, but it’s lagged behind some of the indices. I’m considering pulling my funds and investing elsewhere.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Where are you thinking of putting your money?”

This was not the answer he expected, and I caught him flat-footed. “There’s a tech stock fund that’s been doing really well,” he said, scrambling. “Some of their holdings are doing exceptionally.”

“Well, it’s your money,” I said as the plates were set down in front of us. “You can do whatever you want with it. But see that guy over there?” I said, hooking my thumb over my shoulder at where Andrej was sitting. “That guy lives in the tech industry, in one of the biggest growth companies in the world, right? Do you know where he invests his money?”

“Not in tech, I assume,” Mr. Burke said.

“In my REIT. He knows the volatility of his industry, even with giants like Google, Apple or Facebook, is unpredictable. Yahoo just sold for five billion, but a few years ago it was valued at twenty-five times that much and looked as if it was going to rule the world.”

“It’s hard to argue with some of these valuations right now,” Mr. Burke said, but I could tell his convictions were weakening.

“Yeah, it is,” I agreed. “Look how long it took Buffett to reach the level he has now, versus Zuckerberg, Bezos, or even Larry Ellison. Doing it the old fashioned way can be slower, there’s no doubt. But I guarantee every one of those guys is diversifying to an extent that would make your head spin if you saw the numbers. They know they’re riding a wave that could crash at any moment.”

Mr. Burke looked thoughtful, and for a while we ate in silence while he was thinking about what I’d said. It was at this point that Andrej came over to say he was leaving, but he’d see me at the club the next night.

“And hey, Leah,” he said. “I’ve been talking to Sergey, and I think he’s gonna park some money with you guys. It seems like he likes the idea.”

“Cool,” I said. “You think he’ll want a face to face? I can come back up if he wants to talk.”

“I’ll talk to him about it,” Andrej said. “We’ve got a meeting for the morning. I’ll let you know tomorrow night.”

“You’ll know where to find me,” I said and we bumped fists again before he left.

“Sergey?” asked Mr. Burke.

“I’m guessing he means Sergey Brin,” I said with a shrug.

“The CEO of Google wants to meet with you?” Mr. Burke asked, surprised.

“I have a lot of tech money invested in my REIT,” I said. “A lot.”

“This has the smell of a set-up,” Mr. Burke said, leaning back. “Did you plan this?”

Laughing, I said, “No, but I’m not surprised to see another investor here. This is pretty close to ground zero for the Silicon Valley heavyweights, and like I said, a lot of these guys have money with me.”

“This has given me a lot to think about,” Mr. Burke said, eating slowly.

“In the end, it’s your money. I’ve given you a pretty healthy return for a couple of years now, but if the grass is greener, feel free to pull up stakes and move on,” I said.

“How quickly could you free up the liquidity, if I were to ‘move on’, as you put it?”

“Probably not this afternoon, but by lunch time tomorrow,” I said, thinking about it.

“I mean all of it,” he said.

“Yeah, I got that. Just tell me where you want it sent, and it’ll be done by noon or so.”

“You have that much free capital?” Mr. Burke asked, surprised.

“Mr. Burke, maybe you didn’t read the latest report closely enough. I’m not only the biggest investor in the REIT, my personal investments make up roughly sixty per cent of the overall fund. No single other investor, yourself included, makes up more than seven per cent. Any one, two or three investors, even the biggest, could pull out and it would be an inconvenience, but not any real amount of trouble for the trust.”

“I see,” he said, a bit taken aback. “So me threatening to withdraw has no real bite to it.”

“Not much. If you pull your, what is it right now, sixty-four million, right? I’d simply transfer the money out of cash reserves and wouldn’t touch the actual investments in any way. In fact, it would have no effect on any other investor in the slightest.”

That seemed to have the effect of stomping on his arrogant attitude and the rest of lunch passed without any further discussion on the matter, which gave me the time to really enjoy my lamb biryani.

As we walked back to our cars, Mr. Burke gave another disapproving glance at the Camry, to which I said, “I heard Warren Buffet drives a Camry. I figured I’d give it a try.”

Getting a snort of disbelief, I said, “O.K., it’s what they gave me at the rental counter. It’s nicer than I expected a Camry to be, but I do miss my Aston.”

That little bit of rapprochement seemed to help, seeing the little smile I got in return.

“I’ll call you later,” Mr. Burke said as I climbed into the Toyota.

I rolled the window down and said, “Talk to you then.”

Back at the office, Jason, my head accounts guy, caught me the moment I settled into my seat. “So what did that assho- fine gentleman have to say?”

“He wanted to make me shake a bit by threatening to take his money out of the trust,” I said with a shrug.

“What did you tell him?” Jason asked, surprised.

“I told him he was free to hit the highway any time, and I wasn’t going to try to talk him out of it.”

“So is he? Going to pull his funds, I mean?”

“No, I don’t think so, but maybe. Wouldn’t bother me much if he does. He’s always been a pain in the ass,” I replied. “For such a fine gentleman,” I added.

Just then I got a buzz for a call coming in, so I waved goodbye to Jason and he ducked out to give me some privacy.

The rest of the day went easily enough. My 3:00 went well, adding a 72-unit complex in Santa Clara to our management portfolio. The owner had come to the conclusion that the on-site team just wasn’t suited to the task of running everything and professionals needed to be brought in, and a friend had recommended he talk to us. He’d already spoken with the property management team, but just wanted a face-to-face with me, the owner of the company, for assurance that we would run the place the way he wanted it done. Really, all he was looking for was a little hand-holding to assuage his guilt that he was firing the couple that had been trying and failing to manage the complex properly.

Since I had nobody waiting for me back at the condo we’d bought and Michael was out of town, I just stayed at the office and worked until I was the last one there. When the janitors came through I knew it was time to leave, so I went to the condo, changed clothes, and headed over to the speakeasy.

I had dinner in the steakhouse in front, opting for the rosemary roasted chicken. I ate alone, but the manager and the chef both stopped by to make sure everything was up to my expectations. I must have spooked them a bit dropping in unexpectedly and ordering dinner like any other customer.

After dinner, I went to the speakeasy, past the unmarked door at the back of the restaurant and took my favorite booth, where I could see the whole place easily. There weren’t any of the regulars I knew, but it was fairly early on a Thursday night, so that wasn’t surprising.

Once I’d taken my seat, the bartender came out from behind the bar. “Boss,” he said. “I’ve been trying out a few new recipes, thinking maybe we could add them to the list. I’d love it if you could give ‘em a try and tell me what you think.”

“Sure, Theo,” I said. “Set me up.”

Moments later, he was back with a drink in a champagne flute that went from tobacco brown at the top to pale gold at the bottom. “This is my twist on the classic ‘Death in the afternoon’,” Theo said.

“Looks good,” I said, admiring the brown drifting down into the depths of the glass.

“What is that? That does look good,” a familiar voice asked, and I looked up to see Imogen Atherton standing at the side of the table.

“Imogen!” I said, sliding out of the booth to give her a cheek kiss. “It’s great to see you!” Looking around, I asked, “Did you manage to give James the slip?”

Laughing, she replied, “No, he just forgot something in the car. He’ll be in in a minute.”

“Hey, have a seat,” I said, waving to the booth. “And Theo, another one of these for the lovely lady.”

“Hey, now, are you muscling in on my wife?” James asked as he walked up.

“You snooze, you lose,” I replied. Then, turning back to Theo, I said, “Pour him one of whatever’s next on your list.”

“Emmy stayed back in Los Angeles?” Imogen asked as we all sat down.

“Yeah, Emmy and the boys are working on their next album,” I said. “They’re really doing this one differently, you know? Lots and lots of planning sessions, to start.”

Theo set down another brownish gold drink for Imogen, and something completely different served in a black tumbler for James.

“What’s this?” James asked, looking dubiously at the black glass.

“Theo has been working on some new recipes,” I said. “Take a taste and give him your feedback.”

“And this?” Imogen asked, indicating her drink.

“It’s a mystery,” I said, and lifted my own champagne flute for a toast. “Santé!”

“Santé,” they both replied and we all took sips.

I was not prepared for the taste of black licorice and at first almost gagged with surprise, but then, after a moment, it mellowed out and actually became really tasty.

“Hmm… I’m not sure about that,” Imogen said, making a face as she set down her glass. “It tastes a little bit like that ouzo we had in Thessaloniki on our honeymoon,” she said to James. “You remember, that time I swore I was never going to drink again, ever.”

“Mine was good,” James said, setting down his black glass. “I’d order that again.”

Taking a small sip of my drink, I let it roll around my tongue a little bit and discovered that it was better than I’d thought at first taste. A third sip and it was even better. It still wasn’t going to become my go-to, but it was worth adding it to the menu. Maybe with a warning about the initial hit of licorice…

“Imogen and I were just talking about you and Emmy on the way over here,” James said, derailing my train of thought. “We’re looking forward to going down to LA.”

“Hey, that reminds me. Have you given any thought as to whether you’d stay at our place, or are you going to get a hotel?” I asked. “Seriously, Emmy would love to have you guys stay with us.”

“We wouldn’t be putting you out at all, would we?” Imogen asked.

“Not even the slightest,” I said. “Not even a tiny bit.”

Just then Theo came over and I told him, “One yes and one no for this one, and one yes for that,” pointing at the black glass that James was finishing off. “What’s next on the list?”

“Since we already have our house negroni variant,” Theo said, “I’ve been working on a boulevardier.”

“Three of them,” I said.

Imogen looked a little worried, so I said, “Just take a sip. You don’t have to drink the whole thing. Just give it a thumbs up or a thumbs down. This is a tasting party, not a frat party.”

We chatted a while longer and tasted a couple more of Theo’s experiments and generally had a pleasant time of it. A few others stopped by the table to say hello, but for the most part it was a quiet evening.

I got back to the condo at around eleven and drank a couple of glasses of water to work the alcohol through my system, took a quick shower, and then off to bed. I really hadn’t had that much to drink, since I’d only taken a few sips of the various drinks Theo had presented, but still…