I managed payroll, vendor contracts, insurance claims, supply orders, billing, scheduling, and daily operations for four veterinarians and twelve employees.

Nearly ninety animals came through our clinic every week, and my job was making sure it all kept running. It wasn’t glamorous. But it was dependable. I earned sixty-two thousand dollars a year.

Gage was a financial advisor. He wore expensive suits, leased luxury cars, and talked constantly about “building generational security.” Our mother repeated the phrase often — Gage builds futures. Apparently I merely answered phones near dogs.

What nobody discussed was that Gage’s client base had shrunk over the past year, his income down nearly thirty percent. He never adjusted his lifestyle.

Instead he leased another car, renewed his country club membership, and applied for the boat loan. When the bank turned him down, he called me.

“Your credit is excellent,” he said. “You wouldn’t be paying anything.”