Within minutes, Richard found himself in his Mercedes, racing across the Bay Bridge, leaving the world of boardrooms and hostile takeovers behind. He had no entourage, no assistants, just the voice of a child guiding him to an unfamiliar destination. A sense of responsibility, strange yet compelling, propelled him forward.

He arrived at a modest apartment complex and quickly located the unit the child had mentioned. The door was ajar. Inside, he found a scene that momentarily paralyzed him with shock. A woman lay unconscious on the floor, her breath shallow and her face pale. Clutching her hand was a young boy, no older than seven, his eyes wide with a mixture of hope and fear.