Whitlock,” he said.

“The evidence provided to this court shows that you concealed one point three million dollars in undeclared income, and diverted those funds into private accounts registered under fabricated consultancy names.”

A collective gasp swept the courtroom.

Beside Roman, Bianca clutched his arm, and her carefully composed face came apart.

“You promised me she didn’t have anything on you,” she whispered, in something close to panic, and it was loud enough, in that echoing room, that several people heard it, and it went into the record of the morning as neatly as anything I had submitted.

She had, in her fear, just confirmed that there had been something to have.