“They were going to kill us both,” I said.

The vehicle pulled away from the curb, the tires splashing through the deep puddles of the coastal street.

We drove through the industrial district, past the dark shapes of the cranes at the shipping docks.

The shipping containers were stacked like giant toy blocks against the gray sky.

For forty years, those docks had been the source of my strength, my wealth, and my grief.

Now they were empty, guarded only by federal vehicles with flashing blue lights.

We arrived at the federal building in the center of the city just as the sky was beginning to turn a pale, watery gray.

The building was made of concrete and glass, cold and indifferent to the history we carried inside.

We were taken to a small room on the fourth floor with no windows and a long laminate table.

Two federal prosecutors sat on the other side, their yellow legal pads already filled with notes.

Elena sat at the end of the table, her hands folded in front of her.