It was the single most important thing I did all night, and I did it precisely because of what those four years in compliance had burned into me.

A recording in one location is a rumor.

A man like Beckett — with money, and a respected profession, and a lawyer on retainer — could make one copy disappear a dozen ways: call it doctored, call it entrapment, call me an unstable pregnant woman who fabricated it, or simply see to it that my phone was lost in the chaos of a medical emergency he was arranging anyway.

I had watched corporations make far more damning evidence than a phone recording evaporate, and I knew the trick to stopping it, and the trick is not cleverness.