The design firm's office occupied two floors of a converted warehouse, exposed brick and industrial windows and none of the sterile, gleaming grandeur of Vane Tower, and Ivy walked in on her first Monday with a nervous energy that had nothing to do with billionaires or fraud investigations and everything to do with simply, ordinarily, wanting to be good at something new.

Her supervisor, a sharp, warm woman named Kennedy, walked her through the studio with brisk efficiency, introducing her to a small team of designers who seemed, refreshingly, entirely uninterested in the fact that Ivy's face had been splashed across half the financial press for the past two months....