There are moments when life quietly drops you into a room and whispers, “Pay attention.” No agenda. No slide decks. Just a table full of sharp, curious minds—finance, physics, law, tech—all orbiting the same strange frequency for reasons nobody could quite articulate. The air itself felt charged, like an unscheduled download from somewhere upstream. They call the space The SCIFF—a secure little enclave tucked inside a hotel. But it could’ve been anywhere. What mattered wasn’t