My parents forgot me on every vacation. They said there was “no space” for me in Cabo or Aspen. So I used my $42,000 commission to fly my real family to a villa in the Maldives – the people who raised me and loved me. But the truth is, that decision didn’t start on a beach over the Indian Ocean, it started in a tiny American apartment with fluorescent kitchen lights and a single envelope from a law office sitting on my pile of mail. I was 28, driving clients around sunburned suburbs in the U.S.,