I’ve been in my father’s office multiple times, which is impressive, but Tristan’s is even more so. Two walls made up entirely of windows overlooking the financial district. A leather sofa in front of a fireplace. And on the other side of the office, there are built in bookshelves behind a humongous desk. He leads me over to it now, hitting a button on his phone that brings down the blinds on the windows, darkening the office, except for the flicker of the fireplace and the glow of his computer.

With a firm hand on my back, Tristan bends me forward over his desk, putting my face right in front...