“Corporate espionage,” I said.

“Wire fraud.

Grand larceny.

Did you really think I wouldn’t notice, Cato, when you got into Niko’s home network last month?” His mouth worked.

“I don’t — I don’t know what you’re —” “You thought he was a dead consultant with a nice house,” I said, and I kept my voice level, because level was worse for him than shouting.

“You thought there was a server in that back bedroom with private investment records on it, funds you could quietly move to plug the hole in your firm before it went under.