“She Always Wanted What Wasn’t Hers,” I Used To Say About My Sister.

A few days later, my phone rang at 5:12 a.m.

When your phone rings before sunrise, you already know something is wrong.

I answered on the second ring.

It was Daniel’s chief of staff, Martin.

“There’s been… an incident,” he said carefully.

By 6:00 a.m., the words had solidified into something permanent.

Heart attack.

Forty-two years old.

No warning.

Gone.