Flynn looked at the embossed seal on the resolution in my hands, and then he looked past me, through the glass, at the jet still waiting on the tarmac, and I watched the last piece of it arrive in him.

He had assumed, from the second he saw my post, that I was running — the wronged wife fleeing the scene of her own humiliation, boarding a plane to cry somewhere far away.

It was the only story his version of me could produce.

And only now, holding the resolution that made me chair of the company he had just been suspended from, did he finally understand that I was not fleeing anything.

I was flying to Seattle, tonight, to walk into the room where his acquisition was to be signed and stop it before he could use it to cover the theft.