She shook her umbrella out onto our welcome mat, her gold bracelets clinking against her wrist.

She wore a pristine, cream-colored trench coat that looked entirely untouched by the storm.

“Mom?” I said, staring at her. “What are you doing here?”

Behind her, a man in a damp charcoal suit stepped into the light of our lobby.

He carried a professional DSLR camera around his neck and a leather-bound notepad in his hand.

“I could ask you the same thing, working in the dark like this,” Mom said, her voice bright and theatrical.

She reached out and patted my cheek, her leather gloves cold against my skin.

“But of course, the grind never stops for the founders of Solar Reach,” she added, looking directly at the man with the camera.

“Mom, the power is out across three blocks,” Derek said, coming up behind me. “We’re trying to keep the basement from flooding.”

Mom dismissed his concern with a wave of her gloved hand.

“Derek, please, look who I brought with us,” she said, gesturing to the man beside her.