Daniel had warned me that dinner with Olivia’s parents might be uncomfortable, but I had not expected the first question to be about my clothes. Gerald Whitcombe looked at my leather jacket, then at my worn boots, as though they were evidence against his daughter’s future. His wife, Margaret, tried to soften the moment, but Preston, their son, kept asking Daniel about his salary, savings, and plans.

I listened quietly while Daniel defended himself. Olivia finally pushed back, telling her parents that Daniel’s character mattered more than his bank account. Gerald leaned forward and asked me what I did for a living. I smiled and said I invested in businesses, nothing more. He laughed politely and returned to questioning Daniel. Then a waiter brought a small envelope that had been waiting at the restaurant entrance. Gerald opened it, glanced at the card inside, and suddenly stopped breathing. Nobody moved then.

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