Micah Shine had been traveling again.
This trip had taken him to London and the smaller city of Sandwich, England, where he’d been working on increasing the size of Shine Industries.
In a world where virtual goods seemed to be prized and non-tangible investments were coveted, Shine Industries still made things.
Things to create the digital world, but things, nevertheless.
But Micah had been gone for a month, and San Francisco was cooler in the early fall than when he left.
He stopped at the front desk of his building when he walked in, and the concierge handed him his mail. They’d sorted out the junk mail for him and he paid most of his bills electronically, so all that was left was a wedding invitation from an old Le Rosey friend and one odd-looking envelope with just his name written on the heavy, creamy stationary.
It didn’t even have his address on it. A courier must’ve dropped it off.
Micah waited until he’d gotten back into his penthouse apartment and ordered some dinner to be delivered before sliding a knife under the envelope’s flap to slice it open.
When he read it, his hands opened, and it dropped to the floor.