For nearly a month, Daniel Hartman took the same slow walk every afternoon.

He told himself it was for fresh air, a way to clear his head after long mornings spent staring at numbers that no longer meant much to him. But deep down, he knew the truth was heavier than that.

Three weeks earlier, his father had passed away without warning. One moment alive, the next gone. No long goodbye. No chance to ask the questions Daniel had always postponed.

Daniel was forty-one years old and, by any standard, wealthy beyond need. Hotels. Office buildings. Investments scattered across cities he rarely visited anymore. The inheritance had been his long before the funeral, but now it felt like a burden he didn’t know how to carry.

His penthouse apartment, once a symbol of success, felt unbearable. Too quiet. Too clean. Too empty. At night, the silence pressed against him until sleep felt impossible.

His father’s voice echoed in his thoughts, the same words he had repeated for years.

“If you ever feel lost,” his father used to say, “go where real people live. Money teaches you nothing about life.”

So Daniel walked.