I read it down to the final character without a single flicker of emotion. Then I crumpled the paper and tossed it directly into the disposal bin.

“Donate the garments. Incinerate the rest,” I told Mr. Vance. “I want zero remnants of that existence inside my perimeter.”

“Right away, Ms. Brooks.”

That evening at family dinner, one of my uncles remarked casually across the table, “Have you seen the trade tickers on Vance Nexus? The tech golden boy downtown is currently hovering on the absolute brink of bankruptcy.

A remarkably elegant liquidation.”

My cousin offered a cold smile. “The institutional funds completely vanished, the banks locked the doors on his lines, and compliance is currently picking apart his vendor invoices.