The entries went back a year and a half.

And the pattern, once I saw it, was unmistakable to anyone who did what I did for a living.

Money was coming into the country disguised as legitimate freight, moving through a web of companies that existed only on paper, and leaving again scrubbed clean, while the falsified customs documents that made it all possible carried my brother’s signature at the bottom.

I did not need to understand every mechanism to understand the whole.