I adjusted the microphone.

I looked out at the graduates, their young faces full of hope and expectation.

I looked at my printed speech.

Then I set it aside, placing the sheets face down on the wood.

The applause died down, leaving a deep, expectant silence in the auditorium.

I began to speak, my voice clear and steady through the speakers.

“Graduates, today you are being told that your education is a tool for success,” I said.

“But I want to talk to you about the cost of that success.”

“And what happens when the people you trust expect you to pay with your soul.”

In the back of the hall, near the main exit, a door opened.

A shaft of light broke through the dimness of the rear aisles.

A figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the bright lobby outside.

It was my brother, Derek.

He was holding his phone to his ear, his eyes locked on me.

I met his gaze across the distance of the crowded room.

I did not stop speaking.

Derek did not move.