“Young Luke came by a little while ago,” Mrs. Higgins said, breaking into my thoughts. “He left this note on your desk for you.”

On my wooden desk, a folded note rested beneath a heavy black queen chess piece. I recognized my son’s handwriting instantly—firm, elegant, far too mature for an eighteen-year-old boy.

“Mom, please don’t be afraid, because the show has only just begun,” the note read.

Below the message was a small, detailed drawing of a queen overthrowing a king.

Luke was not like other boys his age. At thirteen, he was already quietly eavesdropping on corporate board meetings from the hallway. At fifteen, he drew up his first complex financial plan.

By seventeen, he’d earned more money investing in stocks than many of Christopher’s senior business partners made in their entire careers. His father always thought he was a quiet, odd boy who stayed shut up in his room, because he never understood the brilliant son he actually had.