Mari should have walked out. Every instinct—every corporate, competitive, controlling instinct—screamed at her to leave. But her shoulders ached. And her jaw throbbed. And somewhere, deep beneath the armor, she was so profoundly tired of being the one in charge.

The practitioner finished with light, feather-like strokes across his back, a soothing reward for his compliance. When she stepped away, the corporate titan lay perfectly still for several minutes. When he finally sat up, the aggressive glare in his eyes was gone, replaced by a profound, glassy stillness. He bowed deeply to the practitioner, his posture humbled and relaxed.

The final session—the one Mari would later call "the taming proper"—was scheduled for a cold December morning.