set down.
That night, I attended a gala hosted by the firm behind the European deal. Crystal chandeliers. White linen. Polished smiles.
Beatrice Holloway found me near the bar and squeezed my shoulder.
“You did well,” she said. “All of it.”
She had been my mentor when I was still borrowing blazers and pretending I wasn’t scared. She’d taught me how to continue reading …
