The Romano tower was forty-two floors of glass and steel on Brickell.
I had driven past it a hundred times in my life without thinking about it. It was simply part of the Miami skyline — a tall building among tall buildings, distinguished by nothing obvious from the street level. Inside, I understood immediately, was different.
Dante brought me on a Wednesday morning.
The lobby recognized him before he reached the desk — the specific ambient adjustment of a space when the person who owns it walks in. Not theatrical. Just the specific quality of everyone in a room becoming slightly more alert.
He took me through the legitimate floors first.
The real estate division occupied twelve and thirteen — open-plan, full of people who looked like they went to business school and worked long hour
