I looked down at my sleeping daughter. For the first time that day, I felt calm.

I smiled.

Less than an hour later, Daniel burst into the apartment. He didn’t knock. His face was pale, his suit rumpled, his confidence gone. His parents and sister followed behind him—silent, shaken, no longer smug.

“What did you do?” Daniel demanded, his voice trembling.

I closed the door gently and motioned for them to sit. “First,” I said quietly, “lower your voice. You’re frightening the baby.”

His mother stared around the modest apartment. “You said you lived here because you were cheap.”

“I said it was temporary,” I replied.

Daniel ran a hand through his hair. “Every investor pulled out at once. Accounts frozen. The board resigned. This doesn’t happen by accident.”

“No,” I agreed calmly. “It doesn’t.”

Then I told them what Daniel had never cared enough to learn.

Before I met him, my father had founded a private investment firm. I never used his surname publicly. When Daniel pitched his startup, my father supported it—not because of Daniel, but because I asked him to. Continue reading…