I was 29. My partner and I were at an early-morning meeting with a client, sitting in a huge conference room. During the meeting, someone popped their head in and said an airplane had crashed into the World Trade Center. I don’t think anyone in the room imagined it was an airliner. We assumed it was a small Cessna or something. I remember telling the story about the B-25 that crashed into the Empire State Building. After the meeting, as we were leaving, we stopped by their break room. Everyone had gathered around a small 13-inch TV. At that exact moment, the second plane hit. I looked over at my partner and said, “Oh my God. We’re at war.” I remember everything about that day. I went to that client site only once, but I can still picture every detail of their conference table, where I was sitting, and that tiny break room with the little CRT television perched on top of the refrigerator. I remember the drive back to the office, even the detour my partner had to take because of road construction. We watched TV for the rest of the day. But I think the eeriest thing I remember was leaving the office that evening and looking up at the sky. There were no airplanes. Planes descend over my town on their way into Charlotte, so you constantly see them overhead and hear them throttling back. But that evening, the sky was empty and completely silent. I still get shivers thinking about it.