“Close to forty million,” he said, and grinned, and Bridget laughed from across the room and threw another armful of my clothes onto the floor.

He kept going.

He couldn’t help himself.

He told me how they had hidden money through shell companies and moved it in international transactions, how the official financial statements had been worked over until, on paper, Gavin looked far poorer than he truly was.

He laid the whole architecture of it out for me, proud of every beam, a man explaining his masterpiece to someone he was certain could never understand it.

The entire time, a small camera clipped to the strap of my gym bag was recording every word he said.