Gerardo, the owner of San Pietro, greeted Corbett in a manner that puffed up his already inflated ego. “Buongiorno, Dr. Corbett! So nice to see you! Your guest is already waiting. Follow me.” Manolo, the maître d’, gave Corbett a modest nod and bow. Yes, Corbett loved the attention. It was going to bode well for his financial prospects.

Gerardo motioned to the table as the guest half stood to shake Corbett’s hand.

“I see Gerardo has taken care of the wine. I called ahead to have him choose something I thought would be to your liking.”

“It’s quite nice.” The man twirled the red Sangiovese liquid in the balloon glass. “You seem to be very popular here.”

“I try to come here once a week when I’m not out on the island.” People in the know understood that “the island” embedded in the phrase “on the island” was Long Island, not Fire Island or Coney Island. Exactly where on the island was usually noted in the next sentence. “In Sag Harbor.” God forbid someone thought he lived in Hempstead, where the school system was rife with complaints about misappropriations and where the charges of police corruption had resulted in the chief of police being fired. Of course, his own business was as corrupt as anything that happened in Hempstead. But his corruption swindled only the rich and took private money, not the taxes everyone had to pay. Nor was any violence involved.

“Been out there for a golf outing a few times.” The man’s name was Leffert, as in one of the biggest tobacco families in the country. Because the market for cigarettes was in decline, tobacco companies were investigating new sources of revenue. The CBD business was a natural for them. “Lovely restaurant, too, by the way.” Leffert glanced around the room and recognized the CEO of TD Ameritrade and the CFO of Home Depot. A gathering of the rich and powerful.

Gerardo returned with a glass for Corbett and poured from the $275 bottle of wine. “One of my favorites.” Corbett lifted the glass and inspected its contents, swirled it in his mouth, and gave Gerardo a thumbs-up.

Trying to break the ice, Corbett engaged in some informal conversation. Sports mostly. Safe subject, for the most part. Manolo approached the table and began to recite the specials for the day, beginning with appetizers, then moving on to entrées. There had to be a dozen specials, all of which Manolo could articulate from memory. And if you missed any of the scrumptious dishes, he would go over the list again, this time in reverse order. That performance in itself was worth the money it cost to dine there. You could tell this was Manolo’s passion. Corbett wondered what his own passion was, besides having prestige and money. After Manolo completed his presentation, he handed them menus, bowed, and returned to his station near the entrance.