I was overcome with curiosity. I desperately wanted to see how Mr. Daire lived. Was his house all dipped in gold on the inside with ostentatious displays of great wealth? I wasn’t so naïve that I didn’t know that his house, located in the premier Biltmore area, was worth several million dollars, and by several, I do mean double-digit millions.

There are no words to express my disappointment when I entered what appeared to be a great room and found nothing but a utilitarian gray leather couch with matching armchairs, a bland coffee table, and an enormous television. That was it.

There was no art on the walls. No art of any kind, in fact. I’d have been thrilled to see a statue, a sculpture, a drawing done in crayon by a precocious child. Truly, anything. Instead, it was as barren as a tomb that had been looted.

Mr. Guzman led me through several more rooms. All were equally plain. Black, gray, and white were the only colors, and there was nothing that signified that anyone actually lived here. No clutter, no abandoned shoes, nothing. We went down a long narrow hallway. I could hear metal clanging, and I had the sudden irrational fear that Mr. Daire was waiting for me holding a broadsword with which he planned to lop off my head. Perhaps I’d had one too many whiskey sours last night.

Mr. Guzman blew out a breath and said, “Wait here.” Then he disappeared inside the room.

I stared at the frosted glass door, wondering what was happening on the other side. I could hear men’s voices but couldn’t make out what was being said. Maddening.

Mrs. Guzman reached over and squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t let him intimidate you. He needs someone to push back at him for once.”

I turned my head to look at her. What did that mean? I was about to ask when Mr. Guzman reappeared, held the door open, and gestured for me to go in. By myself?

I hadn’t been nervous before but now I was. This was my moment of reckoning. Suddenly, my desire to meet the reclusive Mr. Daire seemed like the dumbest idea I had ever had in this life and I’ve had a fair few. This was like Dorothy going to meet the Wizard, except I didn’t have a squad with me. Damn it.

“Go ahead. They’re waiting,” Mr. Guzman said. He made a shooing gesture with his hands.

I stiffened my spine. The rules Mr. Daire had requested were ridiculous. I had a legitimate case to make for being allowed to use the facilities on the property, to have a pet, and to sing if I felt so moved. I was a human being, not a robot, and I deserved to be treated like one.