Saturday morning...
Phoebe was curled into the corner of the sitting room couch, slightly turned toward Damon, who was explaining something about the difference between two investment structures she had asked about over breakfast. She listened closely. She seemed interested in what he was saying, or maybe just in the way he said it.
"The distinction isn't the return rate," Damon was saying. "It's the risk distribution. Most people conflate the two because—"
The doorbell rang, and both of them turned toward the entrance.
Before any of the servants could reach the door, the front door opened from the outside and Carl walked in like a man returning to his own house, which, technically, it used to be.
"Good morning, Glacier Residence!" he announced to no one in particular.
Phoebe's face
