His father, Arthur Sr., ran a small, debt-ridden furniture workshop in Indiana, a business that was, when I arrived, weeks from total bankruptcy.

I was not some pretty girl who married into money.

I had spent years working in commercial furniture distribution, and I had saved carefully, and I believed in what that little workshop could become.

My own parents sold a parcel of family land to help me invest.

Together, we poured close to six hundred thousand dollars — real money, my money and my family’s money — into a dying company.

And then I built it.