“You have no right,” she gasps, and he realizes that she is crying. “You have no right to change something that does not want to be changed.”

He takes a step forward, then another, like an unwise park visitor approaching a seemingly tame bear. He reaches out a hand, and touches her face.

“There now,” he says, stroking her cheek. Her skin is smoother, he notices with satisfaction. “There now.”

Winnie reaches into her pocket for a cigarette. Her hand is trembling.

“No smoking,” Ryan says gently, prying the cigarette from between her fingers. With a ferocious snarl, she slaps his hand away. He jumps back, his heart thudding. A surprisingly pleasant thrill surges through him.

“It’s for your own good,” he adds, holding fists defensively before his chest, expecting her to rush him.

“Liar,” she spits at him, and in the time it takes him to blink she is gone.

* * *

Problems arise, one after another. Expensive problems. Seismic upgrades. Asbestos removal. Hazardous waste disposal from where old puddles of oil have polluted the ground.

It is easy to take out the first construction loan; Ryan’s bankers love him. They even love him enough to give him a second. But the third one is difficult. They shuffle their wingtips and cast glances back and forth. It is clear that they share some of Jose’s concerns.

We’re unclear on your vision here, Mr. Ceres.

The freeway’s a dozen blocks away.

To call the neighborhood transitional is being generous . . .

The infrastructure’s marginal . . . no retail component anywhere nearby . . .

Ryan bullies them and gets the third loan, but there will not be another. It should be enough. That, added to some liquidated longer-term investments . . . his broker will squeal that the money is for his future, but Ryan doesn’t care. She is his future.