Miriam sat with the company auditors.

Two bank investigators waited near the wall, and a federal agent joined by secure video, because Sebastian’s transfers had crossed state lines.

His face changed when I walked in and took the chair at the head of the table. “You’re early,” he said. “No. You’re six years late.”

Selene stood. “Sebastian, what is this?”

I put the airport photographs on the screen — the forged document, the offshore account number, his hand on her knee.

He recovered fast.