We had a thousand people between Boston and New York. That rhythm was my favorite sound. Daniel liked to call what I did “consulting.” He said titles were vanity. I had let it slide because I was tired, and because it seemed easier to let him think the world was as tidy as he wished.

I decided to wait until the weekend to tell him everything—the inheritance, the true scale of my company. It felt important to speak the words at our table, with coffee and sunlight.

Around noon, I locked the front door and stepped into the brightness of Beacon Hill. I turned toward Cambridge Street and waited at the crosswalk. The signal blinked green. I remember the squeal of brakes before the sound of the crash.