The round is over. The real business is just beginning. Three men in black tuxedos gather at the clubhouse bar, golf bags propped below, champagne and whisky within reach, someone signing something that may or may not be a scorecard. The fairway stretches out behind them in perfect condition — the kind of course where the grass is always that green and the stakes are always this casual. Whatever was decided out there, it's being ratified here. This is Palm Beach in its natural habitat: deals made in dinner jackets, agreements sealed with a second round, and a course that exists primarily as an excuse for the conversation that follows. For rooms that understand that the most important meetings rarely take place in offices.