But none of that was what he had chosen to be remembered by.

He had chosen four hundred children, and counting, whose hearts beat because of a decision he made in his last months, when he finally understood that a life is measured not by what it accumulates but by what it protects.

His children had wanted the company.

He had given them the smallest legacy the law allowed, and he had poured the rest, the real fortune, the meaningful part, into keeping other people’s children alive.

I do not think a man can arrange a better ending for himself than that, nor a truer one.