Mr. Harrison broke the seal. He didn’t take out a document. He took out a small, frayed piece of baby-blue fabric — a knitted mitten.

Marcus choked. “That’s — she made that when I was born.”

“She kept it with her every day,” I said.

“Marcus,” Mr. Harrison said, and his voice went hard. “You just told this room your mother orchestrated the fraud. You said she betrayed you.”

He turned the mitten over. Tucked inside the fabric was a black micro-recorder no bigger than a thumb drive. He pressed play.

Static hissed, and then a younger Marcus roared out of it.