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AARON The Cavaliers Headquarters bustled on a Thursday evening, and I sat back on one of the Chesterfield leather couches. The atmosphere was great. Almost all the Cavaliers––men who belonged to the same club since college––were present, drinking and talking and laughing. Some sat on the couches, arranged in intimate circles in the middle of the room. Others collected in groups around the bar, puffing on cigars and discussing market shares or their latest investments and purchases. When everyone had as much money as we did, we talked about it all the time. I sipped my whiskey and groaned. “This is good shit,” I said, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. “You always say that,” Gunner laughed. “It’s always good shit,” I said with a shrug. “After a long day at the office, I want to come out here and drink good shit and spend time with good people before I go home.” “I’ll drink to good people,” Noah said and lifted his glass of whiskey to mine. We clinked the glasses together, and each t