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but too small for a mansion, fitting into its own category as the perfect size for a single California billionaire entrepreneur.  The main house led a phalanx of other buildings: a pair of guest houses on either side of the main house, barns, garages, greenhouses, and what appeared to be a large domed observatory, all of which cut into a rocky hillside of coastal redwoods and seemingly natural drifts of yellow, purple, and white flowers.  At the very edge of perception, identified by the smells of salt and sea in the air, Nathan could hear the crash of waves upon rocks, from a beach no doubt beyond the house and estate.
    He parked the rental hybrid next to a battered truck that he doubted could ever pass California’s emission and fuel efficiency standards.  The gravel of the drive gave way to a landscaped walk lined with manicured plots of floral excess and a slate-walled porch.  Taking a deep breath to settle nerves that had once again been set afire with anxiety, Nathan knocked loudly upon the front door.  A blurred image soon appeared beyond the door’s translucent stained glass and it opened to reveal a smiling Gordon Lee, wiping his hands on a faded, threadbare apron.
    Lee was wiry, and fit in a way that seemed to have come from work rather than working out.  His features gave a hint of his Asian heritage, making it hard to discern his exact age, while his balding head and graying hair belied his nearly sixty years—a lifetime which had seen Lee’s sharp business and technical acumen turn Windward from a garage sideline into a Fortune 100 corporation.
    “Nathan Kelley?”  Lee stuck out a hand.
    Nathan gave it a firm shake, self-consciously debating with himself just how much of a grip to use.  Though he had tired of the interview process, Nathan still wanted the job, so he nervously worried over how he could make himself appear neither nervous nor worried.  “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Lee.  You have no idea how big a deal it is to meet the man behind Windward Tech.”
    Lee grinned.  “Of course I do.  I pay people a lot of money to make me seem as impressive as I am.  If you weren’t in complete and utter awe of me, I’d have to fire a whole department of minions.  Come on in.  Lunch is almost ready.”
    Nathan followed him in and through the house as Lee walked quickly toward the back.  The interior was a mix of blonde and pale red woods, with walls of pastel green striped paper and creamy white plaster.  It was a simple, elegant look, and well appointed with an assortment of lively abstract paintings and comfortable, overstuffed furnishings.  It appeared inviting, lived-in, and fabulously expensive.  The only incongruous element was in the foyer, where an oversized terra cotta warrior of gigantic proportions dominated the entrance, standing ready for battle, in defiance of the homey interior.  Nathan felt sure it was the only decoration that Lee had chosen himself.
    There had been stories, concerns in the past ten years about some of Lee’s eccentricities, but those did not bother Nathan at the moment.  He was here to secure a job, and he would not have cared if Lee had answered the door painted blue and wearing just a cape and underwear.  As it was, he appeared to be nothing if not kind, lucid, and rational.  Nathan relaxed the slightest bit.
    Exiting out the back, the two men emerged onto a stained cedar deck, where a large brick grill provided the focal point for a wrought iron and red lacquered wood dining set.  Behind the house, past the deck, was a meticulously managed Oriental garden.  Nathan wondered if Lee maintained it himself or if there were invisible servants waiting in the wings of this elaborate stage of tranquility.
    Lee raised the cover of the grill, releasing a cloud of fragrant wood smoke and the smell of pleasantly charring meat.  “Ribs or chicken breast, Nathan?”
    “That depends, sir.  If it’s lunch, I’ll go for the ribs, that being a secret