I refused to let them.

Arthur had refused to see people as numbers, at the very end, and it had saved his soul; I was not about to start seeing them as numbers now, on his behalf, with his money.

Every one of those four hundred was a name to me, and I meant to keep it that way however large the number grew.

Sarah, our lead director, who had been Arthur’s own chief of staff for many years and whom I had come to trust as a friend, walked down the stone path with a leather folder and sat beside me.

“He gets faster every week,” she said, nodding down the lawn to where Caleb, eleven now and long-limbed, was drilling a soccer ball into the corner of a net while Barnaby barked and chased.