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placards at local schools, and as the primary benefactor to a prestigious observatory in the hills east of San Jose.
    For those unfamiliar with Lick’s life story, each of the restaurant’s takeout bags included a green paper insert providing brief anecdotes about the man’s legacy and achievements.
    Many saw the flyers as a convenient cover, another means of preserving the current Lick’s anonymity. But for the PM, the historical references had been a further hint to the elusive proprietor’s identity.
    The story of James Lick seemed tailor-made for the man the PM suspected had now taken on the moniker.
    • • •
    MANY INSTANT MILLIONAIRES emerged in the years following the California Gold Rush. One the richest of that group was James Lick.
    A piano maker from Pennsylvania, Lick traveled throughout South America before finding his way to California’s then Spanish-held territory. Upon arrival at the isolated backwater of Yerba Buena (the predecessor to San Francisco), Lick surveyed the town’s peninsular landscape and predicted that its route of future growth would likely extend out into the bay. Betting on this hunch, he proceeded to invest his entire life’s savings on water lots located along the shoreline—parcels of land that were then physically underwater.
    Prior to the spring of 1848, most thought Lick a fool. The real-estate transactions left him cash poor, and, for several years, he lived in extreme poverty. He reportedly slept on the street and was frequently seen in his ragged suit, begging for food.
    With the onset of the Gold Rush, however, the keen foresight of Lick’s land purchases became clear. As the city began scraping sand from nearby dunes to fill in those once-worthless water lots, Lick’s net worth skyrocketed.
    Strangely, the sudden onset of enormous wealth did little to change Lick’s pauper lifestyle. Even after his dramatic reversal of fortune, he continued to dress in the same shabby clothes; his gaunt figure still reflected a diet of malnutrition.
    Despite the influence and power he’d wielded as a real-estate mogul, Lick’s miserly mannerisms had been mocked throughout San Francisco. He was known by his nickname, the “Millionaire Tramp.”
    • • •
    “THE MILLIONAIRE TRAMP,” the PM had mused when he’d read the short story printed on the green restaurant flyer he’d salvaged from the young staffer’s trash bin.
    He could think of no better alias for the hermitic old man who had once cooked his fried chicken in a kitchen above a Jackson Square antiques shop.
    And so he had persisted.
    • • •
    AFTER THE MODERN-DAY Lick failed to return the PM’s phone calls or reply to the messages his new unofficial intern couriered to the downstairs kitchen counter, the PM took the matter to an expert—one who resided most days at a tiny flower shop in the city’s financial district.
    In all outer aspects, Wang’s flower stall appeared similar to countless others scattered throughout the downtown area. The low one-story structure was packed with bright racks of blooming vegetation and multi-colored bouquets.
    Each day, the racks were rolled out onto the sidewalk, an attempt to catch the eye of the well-heeled office workers strolling past during their lunch and coffee breaks. A demure young Asian woman with long, shiny hair manned the cashier register, greeting each customer with a serene smile.
    But there were a few subtle differences, not visible from the street-side view, that set Wang’s flower shop apart from the rest.
    Behind the racks of petaled plumage, in the dark recesses of the store’s back room, the farthest inner wall contained a door leading to a broom closet—the floor of which opened to a tunnel system that ran beneath the city’s financial district.
    Near the broom closet’s tunnel entrance, a wizened Asian man sat in a wheelchair, peacefully smoking his pipe as he monitored the comings and goings both in his shop and in the passageway below.
    If