A ghost from a sun-drenched past flickered at the edge of Linsy’s vision. In the notebook, amidst the precise notations of Michael’s coffee temperature and his preferred brand of ink, she had written a single, incongruous line: ‘A simple white T-shirt.’

She remembered it perfectly. It was his simplest outfit from a time before Helwart Industries, before the tailored suits and the crushing weight of corporate empire. The young man had been all vibrant energy and unstudied grace, and ...