That semester, I met Professor Nathan Bell.
His introductory economics class was famous for ruining GPAs. He was in his late forties, with silver at his temples, wire-rimmed glasses, and the calm of a man who did not need students to like him. He spoke precisely, asked brutal questions, and returned papers with comments sharp enough to cut arrogance cleanly away.
I admired him and feared him.
The paper that changed my life began as an assignment on labor mobility and economic opportunity. I wrote it between shifts, in fragments—at the library, on buses, at my crooked desk while the heater banged and my fingers went stiff from cold. I argued that opportunity was often described as merit-based while quietly depending on hidden subsidies: family money, unpaid time, emotional support, inherited networks.
I wrote about data.
At least I thought I did.
When the papers came back, mine had an A+ at the top.
