My benefactor, Caspian Van Vanderbilt, once personally lifted me onto the throne of Juilliard. When I sprained my wrist, he marshaled his family’s private doctors to watch over me all night. When I was crippled by anxiety before a competition, he arranged for the best therapist in New York. He spent a fortune on recitals for me, allowing a girl from the Brooklyn slums to appear in the arts section of *The New York Times*. He pulled me from the mud and showed me heaven. Until the night of the foundation gala, when I worked up the courage to confess my love for him. Overnight, heaven became hell. He called my love “cheap ambition that defiles my kindness.” Then, under the pretext of a “reevaluation,” he sent me to a notorious “Endurance Camp” in the Utah desert. At the bottom of the file was his cold command: “You may return when you’ve learned gratitude instead of delusion.” In the first week, my long hair was shaved off because I’d hidden a piece of ......