The little boy simply wanted my empty chair. But when he sat across from me in a private dining room seventy-two floors above Chicago, a silver moon slipped out from beneath his collar—and I recognized the necklace I had secured around my newborn son seven years earlier, just before I was told I would never see him again.
“With separate offices because both of you look like you work too much.” I hid my smile. “And maybe a game room.” “Of course.” “And a workshop.” That stopped me. “You like building things?”...