At nine on Monday morning, fifty-two envelopes sat on the long glass table in our Atlanta conference room, one at every seat. Gerald swaggered in first, with Joyce, Rebecca’s brothers, and cousins I had barely met, all dressed up and smiling, convinced the company was announcing holiday bonuses. I stood at the head of the table in a charcoal suit with Lily beside me, and I said only, “Please open them.”

Paper tore. A chair scraped. Gerald read the first line twice, then looked up at the signature at the bottom. “Marcus Holloway, Chief Executive Officer,” he whispered, and the room went completely silent. Then the door opened, and Rebecca walked in, still wearing her wedding ring. She froze when she saw me at the head of the table, with the audit folder in my hand.