“Insurance for what?”
He considered the question with his usual patience, as though testing several versions of the answer against some internal standard before selecting one. “For life,” he said finally. “If the world ever pushes you into a corner so deep you cannot climb out by yourself, bring this to Ironcrest Bank.”
She laughed. She was ten, and the idea of needing that kind of insurance felt as remote as retirement or getting a mortgage or any of the other abstract grown-up catastrophes that adults worried about.
“What will it do?”
“Hopefully,” he said, sliding the card across the table to her, “you’ll never find out.”
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