“What do you recommend?” Leffert asked, displaying his Southern drawl.

“I usually start with the burrata with prosciutto and figs, then the fettuccine with shaved truffles.” It was noted as “market price” on the menu, which meant very expensive.

Leffert perused the menu and motioned for Manolo to return to the table. “Can you fix me a veal chop? Rare?”

Manolo nodded and turned to Corbett.

“I’ll have my usual.”

Then, turning back to Leffert, Manolo said, “Signore, would you care to start with an appetizer?”

“Caesar salad, please.”

“Grazie mille.” Once again, Manolo gave a short bow and moved away from the table.

Corbett wondered if he should start the conversation, but Leffert was already there. He lowered his voice and leaned in slightly. “Tell me about this property you have in mind for a grow house.”

Corbett almost choked on his expensive Brunello wine. He had not been expecting that question at the beginning of the conversation.

“Ah, yes. As I mentioned in our previous discussion, I became aware of Leffert Industries expanding into the CBD business. I have a very large piece of property in Michigan, not far from the border with Canada. The building is over thirty-six thousand square feet and could easily be converted into a grow house.”

“The government isn’t making it easy as far as legalization, and we’re investing in real estate where growing marijuana is legal,” Leffert said matter-of-factly.

“Of course. Very smart move. I am not necessarily looking to sell the property but perhaps to partner with a company looking for the same benefits.” Corbett knew he could get a half million for the land and building, but he was looking for something more long range. Something that would keep bringing in the cash.

“I see.” Leffert paused. “What kind of partnership did you have in mind?”

“Lease option? Percentage of profits? What exactly are you looking for?” Corbett was trying not to be cocky or anxious.

“Can you get me a survey of the property? I’d like to see the location and the schematic for the building.”

Corbett thought for a moment. He did not want to reveal the exact location of the cooker. Not just yet. “I can certainly do that.” He knew he could stall for a while, but for how long?

Outside the restaurant, Sasha was getting antsy. The men had been in there for two hours. She spotted her reflection coming off the door as the men finally exited the restaurant. She quickly shifted her fanny pack, which held a high-tech camera, in the direction of the men. A few snaps, followed by a backup using her phone. She should have enough images to identify the man with whom Corbett had had lunch. Sasha immediately sent the photos to Avery, jumped on her bike, and began following Corbett again.

This time he stopped and entered Bottega Veneta. He felt he had earned it. His plan was beginning to take shape.