His expression barely moved.

Then he opened the audio folder — recordings my sister had made of private phone calls she had no right to record, conversations with bank clerks she had leaned on, calls she had captured off other people’s lines — and something in his face changed and went cold.

“She hosted part of this ledger on my firm’s server,” he said quietly, leaning back.

“That makes a piece of it a federal matter. And she used my name — my firm’s name — to pressure a bank into releasing your financial records.” He looked up.

“She’s been operating under my roof this whole time. She just didn’t think anyone would ever open the drawer.”

I had walked in braced to beg for help.