The snow in St. Moritz didn’t just fall; it pirouetted, coating the cobblestones in a layer of powdered sugar. Elias stood outside Lumière & Co. , his breath hitching in the sub-zero air. He wasn't a man of vanity, but he was a man of his word, and he had promised himself that if he closed the Miller account, he’d finally replace the threadbare wool coat he’d worn since graduate school.

"I'm looking to buy a fur jacket," Elias said, his voice sounding smaller than he intended.

She pulled out a jacket that seemed to glow under the recessed lighting. It was a deep, midnight-blue mink with a high collar and a silk lining that looked like liquid mercury.

He stepped inside, greeted by the scent of cedar and expensive espresso.