Chapter 15 - The Final Balance
The rain tapped steadily against the tall windows of my penthouse overlooking Central Park on a quiet November evening, exactly two years to the day since that fateful Thanksgiving dinner in Westchester.
I sat by the fireplace with a cup of chamomile tea, my phone resting face-up on the side table.
It buzzed once.
Daniel Cho: Confirmation of quarterly endowment distribution. All regional projects fully funded and operating at a surplus.
I locked the phone, set it down, and picked up my grandfather’s blank leather ledger.
I opened to the first page, picked up a heavy fountain pen, and looked out at the lights of the city burning bright and steady through the rain.
I didn't write down a net worth. I didn't write down a stock ticker, a real estate holding, or a corporate valuation.
Instead, at the very top of the clean white page, I wrote four simple words:
May you like
The books are balanced.
And for the first time in my life, every single number added up to exactly where I wanted to be.
