To start at the beginning, go back and read Chapter One.

Chapter Two

There is a 6,345-square-foot home, with marble-tiled bathrooms, fully integrated home entertainment technology, and a professional-level gas grill, among many other amenities, that sits in a grove-like subdivision a comfortable 15-minute commute from the headquarters of Sterling Performance Limited. Tax registers and other official documents will show that this is the residence of Mr. Anthony J. Sun, the chief financial officer of Sterling.

One afternoon in a second-floor bedroom, Mr. Sun’s 11-year-old son, Frederick, was engaged in one of the noble pursuits by which youth are shaped into full men. He and three friends were testing their strength and skill by utilizing the multi-player feature on Frederick’s PlayStation 4 edition of Mortal Kombat X.

Frederick’s hands and fingers moved quickly and surely. He sat straight and stared at the screen. Anyone who saw him would say he looked like a young version of his father. Indeed, his eyes, which were lit and striated with reflections from the glowing screen, were the exact same green as his father’s. But the edged shard of grief in young Frederick’s heart was that, despite their resemblance, he could so seldom catch his father’s eye. Mr. Sun was at that moment in his office, as he was at most waking moments, staring at his spreadsheets, projections, lists of receivables, and reports on productivity.

Frederick grappled with young Sam, throwing tight punches and wild kicks. He called out a boast: “Did you know that my father handles all of the money for Sterling? Every last cent goes through his hands, he says.”

Given the convenient location of this Arcadia of a subdivision, it will not surprise you to know that several employees of Sterling lived there, and their sons were Frederick’s playmates.

“No way,” said Sam.

“No one could handle that much money,” said another of the young man’s companions.

They tussled and kicked on the 70-inch plasma screen, but though each showed determined skill, each also had the endurance and toughness to remain standing.

“It’s true!” Frederick cried. He was wounded by his friends’ doubt. Perhaps because he also doubted his father—not his father’s power but his father’s love.

“Yeah, right,” returned another.

“He’s the CFO, C. F. O. Don’t you know what that means?” Frederick maneuvered and kicked at one of his tormentors. This fight suddenly felt like a fight against the unacknowledged fear in his breast—the fear that his father didn’t truly care for him.

“You’re making it up.”

“Am not!”

The other three joined together and pummeled Frederick until he lay prostrate on the ground. “We’ll believe it when we see it,” one said.

“I’ll show you, then!” Frederick panted back at them. His heart was grievously wounded. He loved his father. He admired his father. But he wasn’t sure he really knew his father. Now he feared all the other boys saw this weakness in him.

Mr. Sun had tremendous responsibilities, as you and I can well understand, and these kept him at the office through long hours and many weekends. Holidays, vacations, school activities, all were subordinated to his duty