The truth was more complicated, and the truth was in the name, if anyone had ever bothered to read it.

Declan had worked at that firm for years as a senior executive.

He and my father had built its major operations together — the regional accounts, the freight contracts, the whole working spine of the thing.

But my father never liked to acknowledge how much of the company was Declan’s doing.

At family dinners he spoke about the enterprise as though every truck and every contract existed because of his own singular genius, and Declan, sitting across the table, rarely bothered to correct him.

That used to frustrate me more than I can say.