It is 1995. Edward Thornberg tilts back in his chair, frowning as he re-reads the letter in his hands. In his sixties, he still has a full head of hair and the trim body of a former college track star. He works in a spacious office with century-old furniture and a PC more powerful than he needs. The letter begins, “Dear President Thornberg,” but goes downhill from there. It is on university stationery, and he is sure that its author has sent copies to other members of the ad hoc committee Thornberg created precisely to avoid this confrontation. He tosses...