I had been in the room for some of it — questions about foreign bank transfers, about shell companies, about how large a sum you could move before someone somewhere was required to notice.

At the time I had assumed, with the easy assumption of someone who trusts both men, that my little brother was simply picking my successful husband’s brain for career advice.

Jim had just landed a supervisory job at the big international freight terminal down by the port.

It made sense that he’d want to understand the money side of the business he’d joined.

Now, standing on the sand, watching the two of them down by the breaking waves — Julian in his crisp linen shirt and his dark glasses, relaxed and expansive; Jim shifting his weight from foot to foot, his shoulders up around his ears — the pieces began to turn and lock together into a shape I did not want to see.