“I would not give them my sixties too.” He asked about Cody.

He said a boy should know that the truth, however late it comes, is worth the wait — that he had waited twenty-three years for it and would have waited more.

I have thought about that man more than almost anyone else from those months.

There is a kind of person who is broken by injustice and a kind who is somehow clarified by it, and Jaime Jimenez, against every reason, was the second kind, and being near him for an hour did more to heal something in me than all the verdicts combined.

Cody’s true inheritance was locked into an independent trust that no blood relative could ever touch again, and the last of the Ashgrave shares stopped being a thing worth killing a man for.