“Your father inherited it. He didn’t build it. He doesn’t understand what it means to create something from scratch.”

“Grandma,” I started to say.

“He judges people by their credentials,” she went on, ignoring me. “Their degrees. Their ability to perform in boardrooms for show.”

She leaned forward. “I judge people by how they treat those who can’t fight back.”

Then she pressed the heavy wooden box into my hands.

“And you, Cecily, are the only one in this family who knows how to be kind.”