The dinner party was, by all accounts, a peculiar affair. Arthur, a self-proclaimed tech prodigy, who loved to brag about his latest patents, had invited us to his glass-walled mansion to celebrate, his "unparalleled success." As we stood in the foyer, a nervous-looking waiter offered us a tray of, hors d’œuvres—tiny squares of jelly that tasted vaguely of seawater and copper. I watched Arthur, adjust his silk tie, which sat awkwardly against a collarbone that looked far too sharp for his frame. "I, grew up a penniless orphan, you know," Arthur said, his voice echoing through the sterile hall. "I, built this empire from nothing but a rusty screwdriver and sheer willpower." His stories, much, like his garden pond, were notoriously shallow. Everyone in the room knew his "empire" was, largely funded by his late uncle’s estate, yet we all remained silent. The atmosphere turned sour, when he unveiled his latest acquisition: a hideous neon sculpture in the center of the room that looked, like a heap of melted plastic. I felt my jaw clench in a forced smile as he asked for my "honest, opinion." Looking at the glowing, garish mess, I realized that all the money in the world couldn't buy a single ounce of taste.

1. Chapters One-Three

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