A Fund of His Own

Sofia met him that night on the Brooklyn Bridge pedestrian path, where wind off the river made surveillance inconvenient. "They pushed you out," she said. "I walked." "That is the preferred wording in every forced exit." "Your sympathy needs work." "I save it for people who don't pretend they have none." She studied him. "What now?" Ethan looked toward lower Manhattan. The towers seemed close enough to touch and far enough to own him. "I start a fund." Sofia stared. "You just became toxic to every allocator who likes sleeping." "Then I find allocators who like returns." "You need infrastructure, prime brokerage, legal, audit, admin, seed capital, a track record independent of Marcus, and a reason anyone believes Victor Kane won't crush you