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As I approached the door, music boomed. I scanned the bracelet, and the door opened.

A guy wearing a polka dot mask let me in. “Welcome. Are you betting tonight?”

“Most likely. But I want to browse first.” I hadn’t had time to research this place thoroughly, but I got enough info from the PI.

I walked by two men wearing red masks.

“The Rottweiler will destroy the Husky.” He held a ticket in his hand and entered a room with a sign that readAnimal Exhibitions.

I walked around, scanning the area for a man with a raccoon mask. The image the PI had sent showed James Chin had momentarily taken his mask off to eat at the food court. Another image showed a man wearing the same clothes in a raccoon mask. The PI had hacked into their servers using hisfacial recognition software. He had access to advanced equipment that my boys and I didn’t have.

A fight erupted between two men. A security guard wearing a red mask broke them up.

I found the food court filled withpeople standing at tall tables and sitting on the benches.

A man removed his bear mask to munch on fries.

“Why do people wear masks?” I asked. “I’m sweating.”

“To protect our identities, especially people who are putting up big money.” He shrugged. “I’m not one of those high-rollers so I don’t care.”

On the far right, I could see two martial artists fighting with crowds cheering for whoever they had bet on.

“There’s a fight next week. Lot of cash on the line. You coming?”

“Maybe.” I glanced around. “I came with my friend, but I lost him in the crowd. He’s wearing a raccoonmask. Have you seen him?”

“Yeah. He was just over by the bar. They’re serving outstanding drinks. Surprisingly, they have excellent wine here.”

I stalked to the bar and glanced around for a raccoon face, but didn’t see anyone.

Sliding onto the stool, I said to the bartender with the lion mask, “I heard you have excellent wine.”

“We do. It’s a special kind.” The bartender leaned in. “It’s bamboo wine.”

“Oh.” This had to be my stolen wine. “I’ve heard about bamboo wine but never tried it.”

“I have. But this is top-notch.” He poured from a black bottle that I immediately knew was mine. A new label—Monster’s Gate—covered it.

“Try it.” He placed the glass in front of me.

“Do you mind if I take a picture of the bottle? The label is awesome.”

“Yo, that’s what I said.”

He gave me the bottle, and I took several pics of it, including the tiny serial number embedded into the bottom of the glass. “Thanks.”

I sipped the wine. This was definitely my product. A prototype that I was going to send out to my tasting team before it was stolen.

“Thisisincredible. Where do you get this? I’d like to buy some.”

“Not sure.” The bartender looked up and smiled. “But you can ask him. He delivers the wine.” He gestured to the man with the raccoon face by the hallway. “Maybe he’ll know where you can buy more.”

I studied James Chin as he stood talking to a man with a dog mask.

“Jimmy!” the bartender hollered. “He wants to know where you got the wine.”

Jimmy looked my way, stared at me for a moment, and darted away.