A man nearby murmured, without sympathy, “Because that is his wife.”
Evelyn took the microphone.
“Good evening,” she said. “Thank you for your patience. I had some garbage to take out before I arrived.”
A ripple of laughter spread through the ballroom.
Gavin stood abruptly. “Evelyn—”
She looked at him once. That was enough to stop him.
Then she pressed a remote.
The screen behind her came alive.
A flowchart appeared. Aurora Foundation at the top, subsidiaries cascading beneath it, a web of companies and acquisitions. At the bottom sat Reed Capital, threaded through by funding lines dense as roots.
“Five years ago,” Evelyn said, “I conducted what you might call a personal experiment. I inherited a significant fortune after my father’s death. Before that inheritance, I had already learned how quickly some men fall in love with a woman’s money. So I chose privacy. I chose simplicity. I chose to see whether I could be loved without being priced. Eventually, I married.”
Click.
Transfers appeared. Dates. Entities. Routing records.