“Exactly,” Mom said. “A true partnership. Stanford minds coming together to heal the planet.”

I looked at Derek, whose jaw was tight.

He knew exactly what she was doing.

She had spent months ignoring our phone calls, embarrassed that I had left a stable academic path for a risky startup.

Now that we had secured our first round of municipal funding, she wanted to curate the narrative.

“We aren’t saving the grid, Mr. Vance,” I said, my voice flat. “We are trying to keep our own sump pumps running.”

“Oh, don’t be so modest, Sarah,” Mom said, placing a firm hand on my shoulder.

She nudged me toward Derek, trying to position us shoulder-to-shoulder in front of our company logo on the wall.

The metal letters of *Solar Reach* gleamed faintly in the yellow beam of the emergency light.

“Marcus wants to get a shot of the two of you together,” Mom said. “Perhaps holding one of the micro-inverters?”

“They are in the back, in the flooded section,” Derek said.

“Well, surely you have a clean one up here,” Mom said, her eyes darting around the reception desk.