Gable — whom Flynn had hired as the estate’s chief of residential security, with full benefits and a private cottage on the grounds, so that the man who had refused to lock a door on a freezing night would never again want for a warm one of his own.

Flynn had tried, in the first weeks, to fix everything the way wealthy men reflexively try to fix things — by spending.

He tried to buy me a house.

He tried to hand me millions in restitution.

He tried to bury five years of horror under a mountain of luxury, because it was the only apology he knew how to make at scale.

And I refused all of it.