Thomas died five years before Daniel told me to leave.

His illness moved faster than any of us expected. One autumn he reorganized the tools in the garage; by winter I sat beside his hospital bed watching snow collect on the parking garage, holding his hand.

Harold came every day. Daniel visited when work allowed.

In Thomas’s final weeks, too many conversations centered on the business — he worried about the company and the people depending on it. One evening he asked Daniel to leave the room.

Then he looked at Harold.

“Make sure Maggie is protected.”