Our Team
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Husaina Durrant
Husaina Durrant
I have been in customer success for the past ten years in the tech industry. I am passionate about customer service and have been in the field for a decade. In my spare time, I enjoy reading fiction books from all types of genres. I’m currently learning to roller skate and love playing badminton. My future goal is to learn how to do horseriding.
Husaina Durrant
I have been in customer success for the past ten years in the tech industry. I am passionate about customer service and have been in the field for a decade. In my spare time, I enjoy reading fiction books from all types of genres. I’m currently learning to roller skate and love playing badminton. My future goal is to learn how to do horseriding.
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Casey Gerard
Casey Gerard
Born and raised in North London, Casey comes from a scientific publishing and beauty editorial copywriting background (yes, two opposite ends of the literary spectrum). She completed her BA Journalism and Creative Writing at the University of Hertfordshire whilst working at the local pet shop. She enjoys movies, reading, running and walking her dogs; her earliest book-related memory is being thrown off a boat into the sea by her uncle, still clutching her copy of Gerald Durrell's 'My Family and Other Animals'.
Casey Gerard
Born and raised in North London, Casey comes from a scientific publishing and beauty editorial copywriting background (yes, two opposite ends of the literary spectrum). She completed her BA Journalism and Creative Writing at the University of Hertfordshire whilst working at the local pet shop. She enjoys movies, reading, running and walking her dogs; her earliest book-related memory is being thrown off a boat into the sea by her uncle, still clutching her copy of Gerald Durrell's 'My Family and Other Animals'.
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Hannah Fianu
Hannah Fianu
Born in the city that never sleeps, raised with a proper British twist, and now calling Westchester home, Hannah brings her roots in PR and marketing, and a sharp edge in DTC eCommerce sales to StoryTerrace. Outside of work, she’s an avid traveler with a passion for discovering new cuisines, and loves nothing more than spending weekends exploring local bites or binging a great new TV show or movie.
Hannah Fianu
Born in the city that never sleeps, raised with a proper British twist, and now calling Westchester home, Hannah brings her roots in PR and marketing, and a sharp edge in DTC eCommerce sales to StoryTerrace. Outside of work, she’s an avid traveler with a passion for discovering new cuisines, and loves nothing more than spending weekends exploring local bites or binging a great new TV show or movie.
Joe O’Donovan
Joe O’Donovan
Joe was born north of the river in London and has built a career in tech and sales, fueled by curiosity and a knack for connecting with people. His earliest book memory is realising that The Twits desperately needed professional help, which probably explains his lifelong appreciation for humour.
In his spare time, Joe loves watching and performing stand-up comedy, keeping up with the latest tech, and putting himself through the emotional rollercoaster of supporting Arsenal.
Joe O’Donovan
Joe was born north of the river in London and has built a career in tech and sales, fueled by curiosity and a knack for connecting with people. His earliest book memory is realising that The Twits desperately needed professional help, which probably explains his lifelong appreciation for humour.
In his spare time, Joe loves watching and performing stand-up comedy, keeping up with the latest tech, and putting himself through the emotional rollercoaster of supporting Arsenal.
Raziel Castillo
Raziel Castillo
Raziel was born and raised in Hartford, CT and holds a Marketing degree with a minor in Graphic Design. He leverages nearly a decade of experience—spanning 6.5 years in DOT compliance in the trucking industry and 2.5 years in digital marketing—to deliver tailored solutions for his clients.
A creative at heart, Raziel is an avid writer of poetry and short stories. Off the clock, he enjoys riverfront walks, family time, and hanging out with his Chihuahua.
Raziel Castillo
Raziel was born and raised in Hartford, CT and holds a Marketing degree with a minor in Graphic Design. He leverages nearly a decade of experience—spanning 6.5 years in DOT compliance in the trucking industry and 2.5 years in digital marketing—to deliver tailored solutions for his clients.
A creative at heart, Raziel is an avid writer of poetry and short stories. Off the clock, he enjoys riverfront walks, family time, and hanging out with his Chihuahua.
Rutger Bruining
Rutger graduated with a degree in Business Economics from the University of Amsterdam and in 2004 started working as a strategy consultant for Booz Allen Hamilton. Three years later he moved to New York for an MBA at Columbia University, after which he became Investment Director at Arle Capital (formerly Candover) in London. In 2013 he quit his job in private equity to focus on his love for history and stories: he founded StoryTerrace. Rutger likes sports and travelling; on the top of his wish list are Australia and Uganda.
Rutger Bruining
Rutger graduated with a degree in Business Economics from the University of Amsterdam and in 2004 started working as a strategy consultant for Booz Allen Hamilton. Three years later he moved to New York for an MBA at Columbia University, after which he became Investment Director at Arle Capital (formerly Candover) in London. In 2013 he quit his job in private equity to focus on his love for history and stories: he founded StoryTerrace. Rutger likes sports and travelling; on the top of his wish list are Australia and Uganda.
As the StoryTerrace Founder and CEO, Rutger enjoys bringing stories to life.
A special medal
I woke up, lying on the road that runs through the south side of Central Park. Two large nurses were bent over looking down at me.
‘Do you know where you are?’ one of them asked. I didn’t have a clue.
‘You’re in New York City.’
‘Why?’ was the reply I managed.
I had arrived in the city a few days earlier to run the world-famous New York City Marathon with five of my friends. We had been training for half a year but that morning, as we drove towards the start in a silent bus filled with nervous competitors, it was easy to feel unprepared.
At this point, the runners with disabilities had already begun their 26.2-mile battle. Some of them were running on one leg and some were using crutches – their resolve was pure inspiration. I knew for sure: nothing was going to stop me from crossing the finish line in the fastest possible time.
Waiting amongst the crowd of other runners, I listened to the US national anthem blare over the speakers. Then, Mayor Bloomberg fired the starting gun and the mass of runners – myself included – heaved forward. It was sunny and I felt untouchable, running like the wind. I even had a big head start over two friends who had always been faster in training.
With two-thirds of the race complete, my legs were beginning to feel heavy. But enthusiastic cheers and wild yells pushed me forward; the crowd was absolutely mad. I wasn’t going to walk for even one step, not even on the long stretch through Manhattan and up towards the Bronx. The brave men and women on crutches that I saw in the morning wouldn’t slow down either. When I heard the crowd shouting, ‘Get the hell outta the Bronx,’ in that old-school New York accent, accompanied by roaring laughter, I knew I was almost at the point where the course shifted downhill.
On the bottom end of Central Park, my sight was blurred but the feeling the end was on the horizon gave me a boost. A friend of mine jumped over the fences, handed me a sports drink and disappeared. I took a gulp, threw away the bottle and hurled myself forward for the last mile. At the same time I tried to work out, unsuccessfully, whether I’d make the time I’d set for myself.
And then, all of a sudden, there I was. As in a dream, stammering up at two nurses. I tried to stay awake, but couldn’t keep myself present as I moved in and out of consciousness. An ambulance transported me to the nearest hospital, sirens blaring. When we arrived, I realized I couldn’t remember a thing. A scary feeling. Where was I? With whom? And why? I couldn’t remember my parents’ telephone number, which had been the same for over twenty years. Every time I tried to write it down, the result was a few numbers feebly written.
As the hours passed, my memory slowly returned and my friends showed up at my bedside. One of them had a medal and, to my amazement, said it was for me. I didn’t feel I had earned it, but they insisted, so I said thanks and accepted the gesture. Plus, who knows what stunt they had pulled to get it? After all, a New York marathon medal isn’t that easy to come by.
Seven years went by before I found out the story behind my undeserved token of victory. The fastest runner of all had given up his medal for me.
Rutger Bruining
Rutger graduated with a degree in Business Economics from the University of Amsterdam and in 2004 started working as a strategy consultant for Booz Allen Hamilton. Three years later he moved to New York for an MBA at Columbia University, after which he became Investment Director at Arle Capital (formerly Candover) in London. In 2013 he quit his job in private equity to focus on his love for history and stories: he founded StoryTerrace. Rutger likes sports and travelling; on the top of his wish list are Australia and Uganda.
As the StoryTerrace Founder and CEO, Rutger enjoys bringing stories to life.
A special medal
I woke up, lying on the road that runs through the south side of Central Park. Two large nurses were bent over looking down at me.
‘Do you know where you are?’ one of them asked. I didn’t have a clue.
‘You’re in New York City.’
‘Why?’ was the reply I managed.
I had arrived in the city a few days earlier to run the world-famous New York City Marathon with five of my friends. We had been training for half a year but that morning, as we drove towards the start in a silent bus filled with nervous competitors, it was easy to feel unprepared.
At this point, the runners with disabilities had already begun their 26.2-mile battle. Some of them were running on one leg and some were using crutches – their resolve was pure inspiration. I knew for sure: nothing was going to stop me from crossing the finish line in the fastest possible time.
Waiting amongst the crowd of other runners, I listened to the US national anthem blare over the speakers. Then, Mayor Bloomberg fired the starting gun and the mass of runners – myself included – heaved forward. It was sunny and I felt untouchable, running like the wind. I even had a big head start over two friends who had always been faster in training.
With two-thirds of the race complete, my legs were beginning to feel heavy. But enthusiastic cheers and wild yells pushed me forward; the crowd was absolutely mad. I wasn’t going to walk for even one step, not even on the long stretch through Manhattan and up towards the Bronx. The brave men and women on crutches that I saw in the morning wouldn’t slow down either. When I heard the crowd shouting, ‘Get the hell outta the Bronx,’ in that old-school New York accent, accompanied by roaring laughter, I knew I was almost at the point where the course shifted downhill.
On the bottom end of Central Park, my sight was blurred but the feeling the end was on the horizon gave me a boost. A friend of mine jumped over the fences, handed me a sports drink and disappeared. I took a gulp, threw away the bottle and hurled myself forward for the last mile. At the same time I tried to work out, unsuccessfully, whether I’d make the time I’d set for myself.
And then, all of a sudden, there I was. As in a dream, stammering up at two nurses. I tried to stay awake, but couldn’t keep myself present as I moved in and out of consciousness. An ambulance transported me to the nearest hospital, sirens blaring. When we arrived, I realized I couldn’t remember a thing. A scary feeling. Where was I? With whom? And why? I couldn’t remember my parents’ telephone number, which had been the same for over twenty years. Every time I tried to write it down, the result was a few numbers feebly written.
As the hours passed, my memory slowly returned and my friends showed up at my bedside. One of them had a medal and, to my amazement, said it was for me. I didn’t feel I had earned it, but they insisted, so I said thanks and accepted the gesture. Plus, who knows what stunt they had pulled to get it? After all, a New York marathon medal isn’t that easy to come by.
Seven years went by before I found out the story behind my undeserved token of victory. The fastest runner of all had given up his medal for me.
