Four years of my life had run through Gavin Mercer, and the person taking over my accounts was a woman named Deborah who had once asked me to stop sending her calendar invites.

The portfolio was worse.

Four years of decks and numbers and test results sat on a server I couldn’t reach from a diner booth, behind a password that had stopped working at ten-fifteen that morning.

Marlene came by with the pot and topped me off without asking.

“That’s three buzzes since you sat down, honey.”

The screen lit up with a number I didn’t know, and then a line of text.

Mr.