I set down a plate of scones and told her the news I had come to bring.

“The prosecutor finalized the plea this morning,” I said gently.

“Luca pled guilty.

Attempted first-degree murder, corporate fraud, illegal distribution of a controlled substance.

Thirty years, no possibility of parole.”

She looked out at the river for a long moment, and took a slow breath, and when she spoke there was no anger in it at all — only a clarity that had cost her everything to earn.

“For thirty years, I thought I knew him, Ivan,” she said.