Simon tried to talk to me at the coat check, but I told him I was leaving. He looked disoriented, as if the world had stopped obeying the rules he had relied on for years.
I didn’t go back to our house, but instead went to a private apartment my grandfather had kept in the city. I sat in the quiet rooms and listened to Simon’s voicemails, which transitioned from confusion to anger to a quiet plea for an explanation.
The next morning, I sent him a single text telling him to communicate only through my lawyers. I then went for a long walk in the rain, feeling the cold air give my grief a sense of scale.
I realized that patience is not a machine where you insert dignity to receive love. It is simply the ability to remain intact while the truth of your situation finally reveals itself.
I spent the next two weeks making lists of logistics and accounts to separate. I also realized that while Simon took the credit for the Waterfront project, other architects in his firm had done the real work.
I invited four of those architects to a meeting at my family office. They arrived looking nervous, but I offered them something better than a standard job.