Most people who walk into The Outset’s headquarters on a Tuesday morning are either employees or journalists with carefully timed appointments. You’re neither.

You step inside with a paper coffee cup in hand, wearing jeans and a soft, worn sweater, no entourage, no designer handbag, nothing to suggest you could buy this entire building twice over without blinking. Which is probably why the receptionist’s eyes flick over you with mild curiosity, then soften when you offer a polite smile.

You’re not here for show. You never are.

The truth is, you’ve built a reputation for quietly investing in businesses you believe in — no press releases, no ribbon-cutting ceremonies with your name in gold. Just… helping. Letting people run their dreams without you hovering over them.

And today, you’re here because you’ve been following The Outset since its launch.

Scarlett Johansson is mid-conversation with a product developer when she sees you from across the open, sunlit space. Her hair is pulled back, she’s wearing minimal makeup, and there’s a notebook tucked under her arm. She excuses herself without hesitation, crossing the floor in that slow, unhurried stride that still somehow makes people get out of her way.

“You’re not on my calendar,” she says when she reaches you — not accusatory, just curious.

“No,” you admit. “I’m not here for a meeting.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, assessing you. “Then why are you here?”

You take a sip of your coffee before answering. “Because I like what you’re building. And I want to help you keep building it.”

Her brow lifts. “You… what, want to invest?”

You shrug. “If you’ll let me. No strings. No public announcements. Just… quiet support.”

£Scarlett studies you like she’s trying to spot the angle. She’s used to people wanting something from her — her name, her face, her platform. The idea that you’re here to give without asking is clearly not computing.*

“Most people who come in with an offer like that,” she says slowly, “they want a seat at the table.”

“I don’t need a seat,” you reply. “I just want to make sure the table doesn’t break under the weight of everything you’re trying to do.”

Something in her expression shifts — not entirely trust, but the first step toward it.

“You’re a strange person,” she says finally.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She huffs a quiet laugh, then glances toward her office. “Come on. You can tell me why you care over real coffee.”

You follow her across the floor, feeling the curious eyes of her staff on you. But Scarlett doesn’t seem to mind the attention — or the mystery you’ve brought with you.

And for the first time in a while, you feel like maybe someone’s looking at you without trying to measure your worth in dollars.