Vivienne's POV
I looked at the card for a long time.
The logo sat in the bottom right corner small and precise and completely certain of itself. The kind of mark that didn't need to be large because everything it represented was already large enough. I had seen it in print dozens of times. In financial supplements and market analyses and the kind of journalism that tracked serious private wealth because serious private wealth, even when it tried to stay invisible, left marks on the world that people eventually noticed and wrote about.
I had read those articles.
I had never connected the name at the top of them to the man sitting across my kitchen counter holding my hand.
I looked at the card.
Then I looked at him.
Something rose through me.
Not quickly. Slowly. The way water rose.
