I turned the pages, looking at my own hand-drawn flowcharts and technical schematics.

Victor had convinced me to assign the marketing rights to his shell company back when we were still happy.

But he had never legally transferred the core ownership of the patent itself.

I placed the blue binder in my leather bag next to Victor’s black pouch and left the bank.

The next morning, the rain had turned into a steady, gray drizzle.

The conference room on the fourteenth floor of the law firm was cold.

Evelyn Price was already there, organizing stacks of documents on the mahogany table.

Nathan sat in the corner, staring out the window at the gray waters of Puget Sound.

He had a paper cup of coffee in his hand, but he was not drinking it.

“The court reporter is setting up in the adjacent room,” Evelyn said without looking up.

“The federal marshals just arrived with Victor.”

“How does he look?” Nathan asked.

“Tired,” Evelyn said. “He asked for water, but he did not say anything else.”

I placed my wet umbrella in the corner and took my seat at the end of the table.