Eleanor explained that Walter had been her teacher and mentor, and the composer of the piece, a work he never published. After his wife died, he had vanished, leaving behind only a notebook of scores. Eleanor had kept it safe, built her company partly to honor his music, and hired detectives for years without success. Walter admitted he had lived quietly in small towns, ashamed and grieving, unable to touch a piano.

Douglas stood frozen, then stammered an apology. Eleanor turned to him and said calmly that talent was not measured by a coat, and that the company’s first rule was respect. Walter, gently, told her he did not want Douglas punished, only reminded. Douglas lowered his head, and the employees who had laughed quietly stepped forward to apologize too.

Eleanor handed Walter the old notebook. His hands shook as he turned the pages. She offered him a position as composer in residence, with a studio, a salary, and a piano of his own. He hesitated, then said he would begin with lunch. The entire lobby laughed softly, and Eleanor took his arm.

The three young pianists auditioned that afternoon, and Walter sat in the front row. Months later, the company released his first album, titled with the name of the piece he played that morning. Douglas attended the premiere, and Walter waved at him from the stage.