Chapter 10 - The Horizon
By late afternoon, the hustle of the trading day began to wind down.
I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of my corner office, looking out at the magnificent Boston skyline bathed in the golden hues of mid-afternoon sunlight.
Down on the bustling sidewalks, people moved in a blur of motion—commuters heading home, delivery workers finishing their shifts, students rushing toward the subway.
A few months ago, sitting around that Easter brunch table, I had been cast as the retail worker who didn't understand business. They had laughed, toasted their mimosas, and underestimated every lesson I had learned on the ground.
Now, I held the pen that signed the ledgers, the voting bloc that steered the enterprise, and the clarity of a life built entirely on my own terms.
My phone buzzed on the desk.
I walked over and picked it up. It was a simple text message from my mother:
> Dinner on Thursday? Just the two of us. My treat.
May you like
I smiled, tapped out a quick reply—*“I’d like that, Mom”*—and locked the screen.
The audit of my past was closed. The balance sheet was clean. And the future stretched out before me, wide open and entirely in my control.
