2:18 PM

"That's it," his adviser said.

He thought he had misheard.

"That's what?"

"The number."

A spreadsheet was open between them.

Investments.

Property.

Cash.

A few things he had forgotten he owned.

Years ago, during a particularly bad quarter, he had written a number on a piece of paper.

If he ever reached it, he had told himself, he would stop worrying about money.

The number had seemed absurd then.

Almost embarrassing.

His adviser smiled.

"You crossed it sometime last month."

He looked at the total.

Nothing happened.

No relief.

No choir.

No sudden desire to order champagne.

Just a number.

His adviser started talking about allocation.

He nodded.

That evening, before dinner, he opened an old spreadsheet on his laptop.

At the top was a cell labelled:

Enough

He clicked it.

Changed the number.

Saved the file.