Page 43 of Keller

Her expression shifts at that. “It really matters to me. Not just the optics, but the actual work and the people we help. Most of these guys come home, and there’s nothing waiting for them. It's important to me that we fix that. We can't help everyone, but you know.”

I can tell how passionate she is about it as she keeps going on, which I let her do. I love watching her while she does.

She explains how they track outcomes, how they measure retention rates, and how they make sure the handoff fromtemporary housing to something stable actually happens. She talks about expanding partnerships with VA offices and following through beyond the initial placement.

Masquerade comes into view ahead, low light spilling from the windows onto the sidewalk. Music drifts out, some muted acoustic song I don't immediately recognize.

We reach the entrance, and I pull the door open. Quinn steps inside first, and I follow.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asks as we step up to the bar.

I glance at Quinn and let her go first.

“I’ll have a Blue Moon, draft, please.”

“I’ll take a bourbon, neat.”

The bartender moves efficiently. Within seconds, two glasses are in front of us. Quinn wraps her fingers around the cold mug. I rest mine near the rim of the glass and wait.

“So,” she says, lifting the beer to her mouth. “I did some Googling after I left your loft last week.”

She does not ease into it. Her eyes stay on me over the rim of the glass as she takes a sip.

That explains the silence. I don't ask what she found. I let her finish, instead. Don't give away your hand until you have to.

“You told me you were in finance.”

There is no accusation in her tone, but there is precision. She cares about accuracy. I pick up my glass but don't drink yet. “I am.”

She tilts her head slightly. “That isn’t exactly how your name comes up.”

So she saw something. I consider how much to clarify without over-correcting.

I let that sit between us for a second. “What exactly came up?”

She does not look away. “I'm not playing this with you, Keller. You know what you do, and you know what you insinuated.”

Damn. She's calling me on my shit without flinching, and I realize I like that more than I should.

“Running private tables requires liquidity management, risk assessment, and reading financial statements. I vet players by net worth and cash flow. I work with money every day. That's finance.”

“That is not the same thing,” she says, though there is the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

“It is adjacent, you can concede that. I will admit I didn't give you the full picture. That was intentional because discretion comes with the territory. It was about timing, not hiding. I would have told you.”

She studies me for a moment, weighing that. The look is familiar. She did the same thing the night we met, as if she were deciding whether I meet her internal standards.

“Fair enough,” she says finally. She takes another drink, slower this time.

I take a sip of the bourbon and let the warmth sit at the back of my throat. She's still here after her little research. That says something.

"Does what I do bother you?" I ask.

"I'm not sure. But it does bother me if I can't believe what you say."

“I am careful with information. That is part of how I operate. But if I tell you something, it will be accurate.”

She holds my gaze. “Accurateenough,you mean?”