A photograph from Hannah’s wedding was still in the conversation above the financial document.

She had sent it on their anniversary.

Her veil was caught on Julian’s cuff, and they were laughing as they tried to untangle it.

I closed the photograph before I could decide what it meant.

There would be time to feel everything.

There was not time to turn every memory into evidence.

My second call was to a national investigative reporter I had known through an old public-corruption story.

Years earlier, she had followed a documented lead I provided and done the reporting necessary to establish it herself.