“Then that folder isn’t just defense,” Theo said.

“It’s total leverage.”

At seven o’clock, the wind was blowing a cold mist off the ocean along the La Jolla waterfront path.

I sat by myself on a weathered wooden bench by the stone seawall, watching the dark tide smash against the rocks fifteen feet below.

Each heavy wave slammed the concrete ledge with a deep thud, flinging white spray up into the twilight before sliding back into the dark foam.

My phone buzzed twice in my coat pocket.