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“So,” the youngest of my four children asked with a voice suggesting the need for clarification, “Joshua gets to drive Momma’s car, and so now she’s getting a different one?”

“That’s right,” I said. “We gave him the Ford Explorer to drive and now she needs to get a different car.” I made the turn into our subdivision. “She likes her Explorer,” I added, “so we’ll try to find another one just like it.”

“Which car will Madeline drive when it’s her turn?” the little girl continued to pry.

“I already told her she could have my Wrangler,” I replied.

“And because you like Jeeps you’ll get another one just like Momma’s gonna get another Explorer?”

“I guess, yeah, if we can afford it.”

“How about Harrison?” she asked, her tone noticeably calculated.

“I’ll keep to the rotation. He’ll drive the next Jeep I get, and then I’ll probably get anoth—”

“—a Ferrari,” she interrupted, finishing my sentence. “You should get a Ferrari.” A depth of seriousness in her eyes, she gave a glance and reached over, gently placing her hand on mine. “I hear Ferrari’s are really nice, Daddy,” she said. “I’ll bet you’d like a Ferrari more than another Jeep.”

A moment of silence passed between us. She gave a grin.

“I’m on to you,” I said, pulling into the driveway. She didn’t respond, but continued her half smile, grabbed her backpack, and hopped from the Jeep.

“Hey, Harrison!” I heard her call through the front door just as it was closing behind her. “When I start driving, Daddy said my first car will be a Ferrari!”

She’s fresh into her ninth year of life, but I already predict Evelyn will be the CEO of a major corporation. She’s an analyst. She’s a planner. She’s a goal-setter and a go-getter. She keeps all of these traits harnessed and working in time for finding a way through just about anything—like a team of horses pulling the carriage of ambition. I’d say she epitomizes the Greek tragedian Euripides when he wrote, “Slight not what’s near through aiming at what’s far.” One needs only to consider the conversation I just shared, which began with the eldest brother driving a decomposing Ford Explorer and ended with the youngest tooling around in a ride fit for Magnum P.I.

There are others like her, and thankfully they’re flexing the muscle of determination in the whiskey business. Bobby Finan and the virtuous folks at Tommyrotter are among them. Never having met any of them, I’m comfortable making this assumption and admitting to its verity while taking in a dram of their Triple Barrel American Whiskey. It betrays their communal wit.

The nose of this edition is ambitiously energetic, more so than you might first expect. Don’t take too deep a breath. Take your time. Do it gently. If you do, you’ll get nearly equal portions of walnut nougat and dark, deeply roasted coffee. If you don’t, you’ll catch a medicinal snap that could put you off before you get a chance to actually begin.

The palate is as determined as the nose, except now there’s no controlling its pace. It breezes through in Ferrari fashion, turning heads and generously doling out sweet cream, maybe a tad bit of honey, charred toast, and something that reminded me of a dry merlot.

The medium finish is reminiscent of the coffee in the nosing, but now it’s far warmer and peppered with allspice.

I like it, and it has me thinking…

On second thought, if Evelyn isn’t eventually a CEO, I’m pretty sure she’s going to be the first of the four children to do time for the highest grossing Ponzi scheme in history. I say that meaning that she has incredible skills, and my sincerest hope is that like the folks at Tommyrotter, she’ll choose to use them for good and not evil.