Seven months after our divorce, I rushed into St. Jude’s Children’s and Women’s Hospital, still angry at my ex-wife, only to learn that she had just given birth to twin boys, and both of them were mine. Before the night was over, a nurse would place a brass key in my hand and tell me to use it before my own family arrived. And what was waiting for me beyond that was even more shocking.

“She already tried that in this very room,” I recalled.

“What will you say to the board when she raises it?” Sylvia asked.

I thought back to the powerful words in my grandfather’s last letter.

“I’ll tell the board that a family name is worth nothing if the people who carry it refuse to accept moral responsibility,” I answered firmly.

Sylvia gave a slow, approving nod.

“That’s a good place to start,” she said gently.

At exactly six-thirty in the morning, I met with Margaret Lin in her executive conference room overlooking the river.