There had been two black limos waiting in the garage, huge, cartoonish, armored-looking, and they’d split into two groups to take those, each with three security people, to what she’d shortly discovered would be a private early-morning pre-opening of Wolven + Loaves, no doubt the result of Virgil’s PA abilities. They were all around the single longest table now, the front window blacked out with the kind of curtains photographers use, the limos parked outside on Valencia.