The term sheet arrived via encrypted email an hour after the call ended. The numbers were even more staggering in black and white. David, his agent, had printed it out, the pages crisp and heavy with promise. He slid them across Kyle's kitchen island like a dealer presenting a winning hand.
"Look at that zero," David said, a reverent tone in his voice. He tapped a figure that represented guaranteed money, a sum so vast it could erase generations of struggle. "That's security. That's legacy. That's 'your-grandkids'-kids-are-set' money."
Kyle stared at the digits. They didn't feel real. They felt like a video game score. Ari picked up the pages, her sharp eyes scanning the dense legal language, not the dollar signs. She was looking for the traps, the tiny clauses that gave away the game.
