I STOOD SILENT AS THE RED WINE DRIPPED FROM MY TATTERED WOOL COAT WHILE CLARA MOCKED MY POVERTY IN FRONT OF THE CITY ELITE. SHE CALLED THE GUARDS TO DRAG ME OUT INTO THE SUB-ZERO SNOWSTORM AS IF I WERE A STRAY ANIMAL RUINING HER GALA. EVERYTHING CHANGED WHEN GENERAL VANCE MARCHED IN AND SNAPPED A SALUTE TO ME INSTEAD OF THE BILLIONAIRES. The wine was a 1945 vintage, I think. It felt heavy and strangely warm as it soaked through the thin, frayed shoulder of my coat. Clara stood there, her diamond