My Husband Gave My Airplane Seat to His Secretary, Then Thirteen Original Patent Files Stopped Him Cold

“Your father called the office line.

He says the patents aren’t for sale, and he wants it written into the minutes.”

“Write it in.”

At two thirty the double doors opened onto the plaza.

Clara Hart stood at the bottom of the steps with her coat over her arm.

“Three months,” she said, “and the licensing office still has my old name on the door.”

“Nobody up here is in a hurry to change it.”

She walked with me across the plaza.