Arthur was not asking me to fight his children, to scheme against them, to meet their cunning with cunning of my own.

He knew I had no talent for that, and he did not want me to acquire one.

He was asking me only to endure, to stand still and honest while the machinery he had built, the lawyers and the forensic reports and the courts, did the actual work of justice.

Revenge, he understood, was a game his children would always win, because they were willing to descend to places I was not.

But the truth, patiently documented and lawfully presented, was a wall that no amount of their cunning could climb.