“The emergency vote is ready,” Fiona said, without preamble.

“The directors have seen the file.

There’s more than enough.” Then her eyes moved past me, to the glass.

“But he knows where you are, Mabel.

He’s coming.”

Beyond the terminal glass, headlights tore through the rain.

A black sedan — Flynn’s — came off the road too fast, jumped the curb, and stopped at an angle outside the doors.

My husband had abandoned his mistress and his newborn son less than an hour after the birth, to race across a city in the rain, not to save his family, but to save his company.