The third: seven seconds of video from the previous day’s executive call — his assistant on his lap, the necklace at her throat, thirty windows lit along the edge of the frame.

The gasps went around the table like a dropped current.

In the back corner, Selina put her face in her hands and fled the room in tears, and no one turned to watch her go.

I felt something for her in that moment, which surprised me, and it was not triumph.

She was twenty-six years old, and she had been handed an apartment and a necklace and a powerful man’s attention, and she had believed, I think, that this was a kind of winning.

She had no idea she was a line item too.