Flynn’s petition for early parole denied, the board citing his total refusal to take responsibility, his insistence to the end that he had been the victim of some corporate coercion; he is serving out his sentence, I am told, working in a prison laundry, which I note without feeling.

Arthur’s appeal rejected, his convictions holding.

Fiona’s probation strict — the community service, the financial transparency, the permanent ban from ever sitting on a corporate or charitable board again.

They tried, near the end, to sue me — for emotional distress, and for spousal support, Flynn’s lawyers arguing with a straight face that my quiet ownership of the real estate had constituted a kind of “financial entrapment.” The judge threw it out in four minutes and ordered them to pay my legal costs.

I laughed when Phoebe told me, a real laugh, the first fully free one in years.

They had spent seven years teaching me that everything I had was really theirs, and they went to their last day in court still believing it.