When the workdays turn into work-nights, and when the pressures of responsibility threaten the peace of my heart, I look out the window of my 25th floor office at a building across the street. This building, Strata 100, is probably the oldest along Emerald. It is also the place where my parents first met. A little more than two decades ago, my mother, who worked for a bank down the street, walked over to handle the account of my father’s company. My father saw her for the first time, and after she had left, he announced that she was the woman he was going to marry. And he did. The rest, as they say, is history.