The mahogany desk that had been my grandfather’s — the one Ian had claimed as his own — was gone.

In its place, on the bare floor, sat a small stack of papers with a silver external hard drive resting on top.

“Your laptop was bought on Mrs.

Prentice’s business account,” the officer said behind him.

“It’s been repossessed.

Her attorneys copied your personal files — resumes, photos — onto that drive.” But Ian wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t looking at the drive.