The school principal called me at work: “Your daughter is in my office. She’s been expelled. Please come now.” I frowned. “There must be a mistake — I don’t have a daughter.” But they just repeated, “Please… come immediately.” When I arrived and walked into the office, I froze. Because sitting there crying, was ….

I was reviewing architectural blueprints for the downtown renovation project when my desk phone rang, its shrill summons a jarring interruption to my focus. At forty-two, I, Clint McMahon, had built McMahon Design Group from a one-man operation into the most sought-after architectural firm in the Pacific Northwest. My office overlooked the Seattle skyline, a gleaming glass-and-steel testament to fifteen years of eighteen-hour days and calculated risks.