Power of Capital

Conclusion

On the morning of November 9, 2016, I visited the coffee shop in my seaside town with my young son, Griffen. As he peered at the scrumptious pastries through the bakery window, his eyes settled in on a supersized chocolate chip cookie. Good choice, I thought, and I obliged. I was in a mood to splurge. We were celebrating his third birthday, and I was suffering from mom guilt. I would be flying down shortly to New York, missing my son's big day. Later that evening, I was scheduled to meet with António Guterres, the incoming Secretary General of the United Nations.

Griffen and I sat along the sea, with the cool Boston air and the low‐lying cloud cover—him with his cookie and me with a warm cup of minty black tea.

This was no ordinary day. Hours later, I touched down in Manhattan. A dense fog hung over the buildings, and the city was gray. As I walked the streets, the hustle of New York endured, but an eerie stillness hung in the air. A soft drizzle dimmed the city lights, and the sounds of the streets were seemingly muted.

The night before, the election of Donald J. Trump as US president had been announced. The city was stunned. While I was a frequent traveler to the city, this day felt as ghostly as another I had experienced before—9/11.

Gripping my umbrella, I made my way to the address I had been given, a nondescript restaurant bar in SoHo. Inside, men and women sipped on glasses of wine as they spoke in a hush. “Did you anticipate last night's outcome?” one incredulously ...