40 OLIVIATwo weeks and what feels like fifty gallons of coffee later, Noah and I have closed all the deals we started at our big beach bash.
It seems like half of New York City is still buzzing about that party. Our company’s financial future is about as secure as it’s going to get—we’ve got a dozen fat new contracts and three times as many promising network contacts to tap into for years to come. Tate & Cane Enterprises is doing amazing. I should be on top of the world . . .
Except this morning, I woke up to a voice mail from the hospital. Dad’s health has taken a sudden turn for the worse.
Two weeks ago, on the evening of the big networking gala, Dad was apparently working late in his study—which he shouldn’t have been doing, but I’ve never been able to keep him away from his job. He
