Alexander began laying out the contents of the black binder on the desk.

He flipped to a section marked with a blue tab.

“I have the physical duplicate statements here,” he said, his eyes scanning the columns of numbers. “The foundation’s offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands.”

“Look for transfers to an entity called ‘Apex Medical Consulting’ between April and June seven years ago,” Margaret instructed.

I walked over to the desk, leaning over Alexander’s shoulder.

The smell of rain and cold wool drifted off him.

The boys sat quietly on a green leather sofa nearby, watching us with solemn, tired eyes.

“Here,” Alexander said, his finger stopping on a line. “April 14th. Apex Medical Consulting. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

“Check May,” Margaret said over the phone.

“May 12th. Another two hundred and fifty thousand,” Alexander read.

“And June?”

“Three hundred thousand,” Alexander said. “A total of eight hundred thousand dollars to Apex.”

“Now look at the authorization code at the end of the line,” Margaret said.

Alexander squinted at the tiny, faded print on the paper.