I watched him understand that he had walked, arrogant and damp and full of grievance, straight into the one room in the city where he held no power at all.

There was a bitter justice in the geography of it that I did not have the space to appreciate in the moment but have turned over many times since.

For years, Arthur Vance had made me feel small in his house, on his terms, surrounded by his wealth and his certainty and his casual contempt for the work I did.

In his boardrooms and his dining room and his gated estate, he had held all the cards, and he had never let me forget it.