The industrial ceiling fan in the administrative office of the Sunnyvale warehouse hummed loudly, doing little to cool the humid air. Grayson Knight sat behind a heavy oak executive desk—a recent purchase from an estate auction—staring at the green phosphor screen of a newly installed IBM terminal.
Toby Miller stood near the window, peering through the dusty blinds at the empty parking lot. "Quinn's late," he said, checking his wrist. "She was supposed to be back from the San Jose bankruptcy court twenty minutes ago."
"The federal liquidators are dealing with a ninety-million-dollar real estate collapse, Toby," Grayson said, his eyes never leaving the monitor. "Court dockets do not adhere to personal schedules."
"I just don't get why we're buying physical real estate," Toby said, turnin
