I remembered Walter Mercer teaching me to read an income statement when I was fourteen. He would slide two reports across the kitchen table and ask which company I trusted more. I always chose the one with the larger profit. He would point to the cash flow and shake his head.
“Profit is a story,” he told me. “Cash tells you whether the story can stand up.”
He was not my biological father, but he had never used that word as a qualification. He attended my school plays, corrected my driving, and called every Sunday when I was traveling. When Nolan proposed, Dad welcomed him without hesitation. I mistook that generosity for approval of Nolan’s character.
Nolan learned the company’s language quickly. He asked good questions in meetings, sent thoughtful notes to directors, and made himself indispensable. I helped him rise to executive vice president because I thought he wanted to build something with me. He was building a ladder over my head.
