“Your financial team turned state’s evidence three hours ago, Luke,” I said.

He looked at me.

Actually looked at me, maybe for the first time in years — not through me, not past me, but at me, as though a piece of furniture he’d stopped noticing had just spoken.

“When Daniel’s team brought your chief financial officer the offshore routing numbers I pulled off your old hard drive,” I said, “the one you left behind because you assumed it was empty and you assumed I was too broken to look — he signed a full confession this afternoon, rather than go down for all of it himself.

It’s already done, Luke.