The videographer looked at Lena, waiting for instruction.

“Keep recording,” Lena said.

She turned to Grant, who was slumped in his chair, looking smaller than I had ever seen him.

“Mr. Mercer, did you or did you not authorize the transfer of six hundred thousand dollars from the Whitaker Foundation to Blue Horizon on November twelfth?” Lena asked.

Grant did not look up.

“Grant,” Daniel warned. “Do not answer that.”

“I need a glass of water,” Grant muttered, his voice barely audible.

“Answer the question, Mr. Mercer,” Lena said.

The phone on the table buzzed again, the screen lighting up with a message from the lead investigator at the state attorney’s office.

The message was brief, asking for Lena’s immediate confirmation of the offshore account numbers.

I watched the light from the screen reflect in the polished wood of the table.

The room felt cold, the air thick with the realization of what was coming.

“The federal prosecutors are already drawing up the indictment,” Lena said quietly to Daniel. “Your client’s options are narrowing by the minute.”

Daniel looked at Grant, then back at the documents spread across the table.