Brendan smiled without warmth.

“He’s right.

The mics are catching all of it — they’re manufacturing evidence for us, for free.

Though it is a little loud out there.” He looked at my father.

“Might be more comfortable to have this conversation inside.”

My father considered that, and set down his cup, and stood, adjusting his cuffs with the unbothered authority of a man who had run a thousand operations.