To the outside world, my wife was an angel. But one night, I came home unannounced and heard my six-year-old daughter pleading behind a closed door. What I witnessed that night destroyed everything I believed in.

The final stroke of my fountain pen across the contract felt heavier than it should have. It was past nine at night, and the glass walls of my office reflected a man who seemed powerful yet empty. Below, Chicago stretched endlessly, its lights sharp and distant like stars that no longer warmed anyone. I had built half of what I …