Elias didn't change his clothes. He didn't wash the faint scent of marine paint off his skin or try to hide the grease under his fingernails. If he was going to face the people, he wanted them to see the man he was truly becoming, not the billionaire in the charcoal gray suit.

He walked down the main street. It was only three blocks to The Salted Rim, Seaside Point's only restaurant, but it felt like three miles. People on the sidewalk ducked into doorways to avoid him; conversations stopped as