He had seen the check.

He had done the math on who I apparently was, and his entire posture toward me had reorganized itself around it, and he was frightened, I think, of having been so casually cruel to someone who turned out to have a wealthy powerful family.

It was not remorse for the principle of the thing.

It was remorse for having picked the wrong target.

And that distinction, once I saw it clearly, taught me something I have never forgotten about how power actually works.