My father measured a life in what it accumulated.

He is in a cell now, having accumulated more than almost anyone, and he has nothing, because he never understood that the only wealth that was ever real was the people, and he fed all of his into the machine.

I intend to spend the rest of my life proving I learned the opposite lesson, one bedtime at a time.

“Look, Daddy!

I built a giant tower!”

I knelt down beside her on the rug and held out my hand.

“It’s a beautiful tower, Bella,” I said, pulling my daughter into a tight hug.

“And this time, nobody’s ever going to knock it down.”

THE END.