sister.
She had severed herself from the corporate guarantor.
She had fired the bank.
Friday morning, I entered my downtown office at exactly six.
The building was nearly silent.
The cleaning crew had already left, and the marble floors gleamed beneath the recessed lighting.
I walked to my corner suite, set down my briefcase, and turned on my computer.
I wasn’t replaying Ashley’s insult.
I wasn’t crying over my parents’ applause.
What I felt was the clarity of a balance sheet correcting itself.
The next forty-eight hours were critical.
The
