I should describe the feeling of that night, because it was not what people assume.

When I tell this story, listeners expect the discovery scene to be full of rage — a wronged wife weeping over a laptop, hands shaking.

It was the opposite.

The moment the first strange transfer appeared on the screen, something in me went still and cool and clear, the way it always had at work when a set of numbers began, at last, to confess.

Rage is loud and it makes you clumsy; it makes you confront too early, tip your hand, give the other side time to paper over the gaps.