Beside the makeshift bar, Mike was holding court. My best friend since our freshman year at university. The man who had borrowed money from me to start three failed businesses. The man who was currently slapping my back with a little too much force as I approached.

“Here he is! The man of the hour!” Mike slurred slightly, raising his glass. His face was flushed, his eyes glassy with envy thinly veiled as affection. “To David! The architect who finally built something that’s going to last—a legacy!”

The crowd cheered. My colleagues, our families, even Mike’s wife, Jessica, who looked tired and worn down by Mike’s constant unemployment, raised their glasses. Her eyes flickered towards me, a hint of sympathy that was quickly drowned in her own resignation.