I had done all my crying in the three weeks before, in private, on my own schedule, so that when the public hour came I could stand in it dry-eyed and steady.

That, too, was something my father would have understood.

Do your weeping where no one is voting.

Chapter 14 — The Vote

He lunged for the tablet.

Arthur, who is nearly seventy and had clearly expected it, simply moved it out of his reach, unhurried, the way you move a glass away from a child’s swinging arm.

“Don’t,” Arthur said quietly.

“You are on a recorded call with the full board, Flynn.