The lakefront client called me directly. He had kept the accurate timeline I sent, the 267 days, and he said it was the only honest document anyone at Ashford had ever put in front of him. My firm built that house. It took 271 days. He moved in the following spring and sent me a photograph of the courtyard.

Delphine wrote to me eleven months later. Not for a job. To say she had genuinely not understood, until the injunction, that the awards had been mine, and that our father had let her believe otherwise because it was easier to sell a daughter than to credit a son. I believed her. We have lunch now, twice a year, and she works in client relations for a firm that is not ours and is better for having her.

Roderick and I do not speak. He sold what was left of Ashford in the autumn. He is not destitute. He is simply no longer the man whose name is on the building, which for him is the same thing.

My firm has fourteen people. My name is on the door, and under it, in smaller letters, it says structural engineer, because I chose that line myself.

For eight years I let a man look at me and see a resource, a solver of problems, a quiet part of the machine nobody thanks. I kept telling myself it was fine, that I was waiting for the right time. The right time was the morning he suspended me and I finally saw, without softening it, that the only person who had ever valued what I built was me. I stopped waiting to be seen and simply left, and everything I made after that has been mine, in my name, in full daylight.