“In my household, the name Tom is both a legacy and a curse. My grandfather, Thomas, rules with an iron will softened by cavalry polish and a love for Georgian architecture. My father, Tom, is his mirror image in ambition and countenance, a man who could sell a bridge he does not own. I am the third: Tom, but called ‘Junior’ by my father, and ‘Tommy’ by my grandmother Mary, who says I have the sly grace of her tabby cat, also named Tom. We are a house of Toms. One might say we are tomfoolery incarnate.”