The signature was jagged, nothing like the bold, sweeping strokes he used on the company stock certificates.

“It’s done,” he said, dropping the pen onto the counter.

“Thank you,” I said.

I took the signed documents and placed them back into my leather bag.

I did not look at him again.

I walked out of the apartment, my heels clicking sharply on the linoleum floor.

***

The rain had stopped by the time I reached the federal courthouse the following morning.

The sky over Miami was a pale, washed-out blue, the air smelling of wet asphalt and salt water.

I sat in the back of the courtroom, next to Evelyn Price.

Nathan sat at the defense table, his shoulders straight, wearing a dark gray suit that fit him well.

Victor was brought in through the side door by two armed deputy marshals.

He was wearing an orange jumpsuit that was too large for his frame.

His hands were cuffed in front of him, secured to a chain around his waist.

He looked small, his posture slumped as he stood before the judge.