The crisp October air of New Haven carried the sharp, nostalgic scent of burning oak leaves and wet pavement.
Autumn in Connecticut arrived with its usual regal splendour, painting the gothic arches and stone courtyards of Yale University in brilliant shades of burnt amber, crimson, and deep gold.
It had been four years since I last walked through Phelps Gate as an undergraduate—four years spent descending into the ferocious, hyper-speed abysses of Wall Street, London’s financial district, and the high-altitude sovereign clearing vaults of Hong Kong and Washington. Yet as the black executive sedan glided smoothly past the wrought-iron gates of Old Campus, the towering spires of Harkness Tower stood as silent, granite sentinels against the overcast afternoon sky.
I sat in the rear passen
