The Christmas Eve gala was one of those events that looked generous on paper and looked even better in the press. Daniel had written a check so large people clapped when he handed it over.
It all felt painfully hollow.
By the time he stepped into his town car, he’d already removed his bow tie, exhausted by too much small talk and too little meaning. He leaned back in the seat, ready to shut the world out.
But his driver slowed near an alley and spoke with quiet urgency.
“Mr. Reed… I think you should see this.”
Daniel almost dismissed him—he wasn’t in the mood for distractions. But the driver rarely interrupted him.
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