Brandon cleared his throat loudly before he spoke.

“We’re looking at a thirty percent return on the first twelve condo units along the ridge,” Brandon said, raising his voice over the clinking crystal.

“The local bank is fully on board.”

The man in the charcoal suit didn’t look at Brandon.

He was Christopher Pembroke, fifty-eight, a commercial real estate investor from northern Virginia.

Pembroke narrowed his eyes slightly, as if he smelled sour milk, and picked up his wine glass without drinking.

“Which local bank, Brandon?” Pembroke asked.