“The original family that built this house called it the crow’s nest. The story is that the wife was a poetess, and she wanted a quiet place away from her children to do her writing. From the window, she had a bird’s-eye view of the front garden and the driveway, so she could always keep an eye on who was coming and going. By the time my uncle bought the house, this was just a store room. My cousins and I used it as a clubhouse when we were kids. We called it Captain Haddock’s Hideout.”

“Cassian would love this. He would have so much fun up here.” Astrid peered out the window and saw Michael’s 1956 black Porsche 356 Speedster pulling up the driveway.

“James Dean just arrived,” Carmen deadpanned.

“Haha. He does look like quite the rebel in it, doesn’t he?”

“I always knew you’d end up with a bad boy. Come, let’s give him the grand tour.”

As Michael got out of his classic sports car, Carmen couldn’t help but notice the transformation. The last time she had seen him was two years ago at a party at Astrid’s parents’ house, where he was in cargo pants and a polo shirt and still had his commando buzz cut. Now, striding up to the front steps in his steel-gray Berluti suit, Robert Marc sunglasses, and trendy disheveled haircut, he seemed like a totally different man.

“Hey, Carmen. Love your new hairstyle,” Michael said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks,” Carmen said. She’d had her long straight hair layered into a chin-length bob a few weeks ago, and he was the first man to pay her a compliment.

“My condolences about your uncle—he was a great man.”

“Thank you. The silver lining to this unfortunate event is that you are getting to preview the place before it officially goes on the market tomorrow.”

“Yes, Astrid hassled me to leave the office and come see this place right now.”

“Well, we anticipate a feeding frenzy as soon as the listing goes live. A property like this hasn’t come on the market in years, and it will most likely go straight to auction.”

“I can only imagine. What is this—two, three acres? In this neighborhood? I’m sure every developer would love to get their hands on this,” Michael said, surveying the expansive front lawn framed by tall, lush traveler’s palms.

“That’s precisely why the family has allowed me to show it to you exclusively. We don’t want this house to be torn down and turned into some huge condo development.”

Michael glanced quizzically at Astrid. “This isn’t a teardown? I thought you wanted to hire some hot-shit French architect to design something on this land.”

“No, no, you’re confusing this with the place I wanted you to see on Trevose Crescent. This should never be torn down—it’s a treasure,” Astrid said emphatically.

“I like the grounds, but tell me what’s so special about this house—it’s not like it’s one of those historic Black and Whites.”