Jake had made it back to his office after his visit with Anna without being followed, and he filled the afternoon hours with his delayed nap. By the time he could reasonably leave the building, he was refreshed and ready to go. He made no effort to notice if he was being followed or not, and he stopped into a saloon where many of the Wall Street denizens enjoyed a libation after a busy day of making money.

Jake made sure to sit at the bar with an empty seat to his right, just in case, and he wasn’t disappointed when a well-dressed gentleman carrying an expensive-looking briefcase sat down beside hm. He looked to be around fifty, with dark hair lightly threaded with silver and an impressive set of side-whiskers. He laid the briefcase on the bar and folded his hands over it, as if the contents were precious or at least valuable. He ordered a double whiskey.

“Rough day?” Jake inquired casually.

The man smiled wanly. “Not exactly. I’m just . . . I’m new to the city, and I’m afraid I find it all a bit overwhelming.”

“What brings you here, Mr. . . . ?”

“Waterson,” the man said, reaching out a hand.

Jake took it and shook. “Pleased to meet you and welcome to our fair city, Mr. Waterson. I’m John Miller.”

“Thank you, young man. I appreciate your friendliness. I haven’t encountered much of that since I arrived.”

“You’ve just been going to the wrong places, then,” Jake said. “New York can be a very friendly city.”

Waterson smiled. “You must be in sales.”

“Is it so obvious?” Jake asked good-naturedly. “And I’m also new to the city.”

“So you haven’t yet become jaded,” Waterson said. “What do you sell?”

“Stocks,” Jake admitted with a grin. “It’s the coming thing, I’m told.”

Waterson shook his head. “Nothing will ever replace land. They aren’t making any more of it, you know.”

This was truly something Jake had never considered, so he didn’t have to pretend to be impressed. “I guess you’re right. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Waterson glanced around as if to make sure no one was listening. Then he lowered his voice and said, “Especially if that land is on top of a whole bunch of crude oil.”

Jake widened his eyes. “Sounds like you aren’t just shooting the breeze, Mr. Waterson. Do you really have some land that’s sitting on an oil deposit?”

Waterson looked around again and then nervously picked up his glass and took a large sip. Plainly, he was quite used to drinking straight whiskey. “I’m afraid I’ve already said too much. Anyone could overhear us.”

“Then why don’t we go somewhere more private? I wouldn’t mind hearing all about this land of yours.”

“Oh, it’s not mine. I’m just the agent, you see.”