But I had spent my childhood watching my father run a company, and one of the things I had absorbed from him so early that it felt less like a lesson than a bone was this: that anger is a luxury, and information is power, and the two cannot be spent at the same time.

The moment I confronted Flynn, I would feel better for an hour and he would begin, that same hour, to cover his tracks, move the money, lawyer up, and build the counter-story in which I was the unstable wife.

My anger would cost me the only advantage I had, which was that he did not yet know I had opened the envelope.

There is a version of this story the world prefers, and in that version I confront him the night the envelope arrives.