“That sounds like bad strategy for an executive,” Lucas said.

“It wasn’t a strategy,” I said.

“It was a decision.”

By eight o’clock that evening, the supper plates had been cleared from the kitchen table and replaced with four matching school notebooks and the open laptop.

Henry, Sam, Lucas, and Jack stood in a row beside the table, their four matching navy wool coats hung over the backs of the wooden chairs behind them.

Ethan’s email was still open in the middle of the screen, the text crisp and white against the dark frame.