“Sarah, we saw the article on the local business blog,” she said. “The one calling your startup a ‘regulatory gamble.’ Your aunt Eleanor sent it to me this morning.”

I didn’t answer. I just watched her.

“Your father and I have talked,” she continued, gesturing to my silent father. “We’ve arranged a meeting for you with Richard Vance. He has an opening in his firm’s new green-consulting division.”

“I don’t want a consulting job, Mom,” I said.

“Sarah, be reasonable,” she said, her voice rising. “You have a doctorate from Stanford. You should be sitting on advisory boards, not hiding in a warehouse in the flats.”

“We aren’t hiding,” Derek said. “We’re running a company.”

My mother turned her glare to him. “Derek, you have an MBA. You should be managing a real portfolio, not playing electrician with your sister.”

“I am not playing,” Derek said, his voice quiet and steady. “We kept forty-two families warm last night. That means more to me than any portfolio.”

My father shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Helen, maybe we should leave them to their work,” he muttered, looking at the floor.