It was Friday morning and the four old friends had settled into their usual rhythm. At their age, routines mattered. The same arguments about who was to drive, and the same hope that this week they would discover a hidden vineyard among the rolling hills outside of San Miguel. Fridays were meant to be peaceful. A small winery under the pepper trees with a light breeze blowing. A young lady pouring tastings of a new vintage while a sommelier explains the different grapes and blends. Work men tending the grapes. That was what these old guys loved most — not the wine itself, though they certainly appreciated that — but the feeling that they had stumbled into someone’s dream. But lately things had begun to change. As they drove through the countryside that afternoon, Marti noticed a billboard rising beside the highway.

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