Before we get to the numbers, let's start with some culture.
In Bruegel's masterpiece, a farmer plows his field in the foreground while ships sail peacefully across a glittering harbor. The composition is pastoral, orderly, prosperous. Life continues its eternal rhythms. Only if you know where to look - in the bottom right corner - do you spot two pale legs disappearing beneath the waves. Icarus has fallen from the sky, his wax wings melted by the sun, but the world barely notices. The plowman doesn't look up. The shepherd tends his flock. Commerce flows uninterrupted.
This is the perfect allegory for Prime Trust's collapse and its aftermath. An $82 million custodian crashes into the regulatory ocean, legs flailing, but the broader financial system continues its work without pause. The RWA tokenization ships sail on toward their trillion-dollar destinations. The institutional plowmen keep tilling their yield-enhanced fields. Everyone knows someone fell from the sky, but the consensus is clear: that's what happens when you fly too close to the sun with homemade wings.