“Mr.

Miller.

Did your wife ever secretly move hundreds of thousands of dollars to her relatives?” “No.” “Did she ever forge your signature on a loan?” “No.” “Then explain to this room what money you were protecting from your wife.” And Brandon sat there, in the suit I had bought him, and had no answer at all.

I watched him in that silence, and I understood that I was watching the exact moment a certain kind of power runs out.

For seven years, Brandon’s great weapon had been his confidence — the smooth, unshakable certainty with which he narrated reality, so sure of his own version that people simply adopted it rather than argue.