We left the tower before dawn.

The detectives and accountants would work from preserved records; our child did not need to remain in a building full of evidence boxes to prove she mattered.

As our car crossed the river, Pearl pointed to the first pale strip of light over the water.

“Morning,” she said aloud.

Desmond smiled. “Yes. Morning.”

I thought back to the woman in glue-repaired shoes who had entered the mansion expecting to beg for work.

She had thought her poverty was the hardest part of that day.