I took the mug, letting the warmth seep into my cold fingers.

“Thank you, Doctor,” I said.

The next three days passed in a blur of gray light and quiet rooms.

I stayed inside the safehouse, listening to the rain beat against the glass.

Miller visited twice, bringing documents for me to sign.

He showed me the photographs of the ledger pages Vincent had provided.

They showed years of illegal transactions, bribes, and payoffs linking Paul and Corrado.

“This is enough to put them away for life,” Miller said, pointing to the columns of numbers.

“But your testimony about the warehouse meeting will seal it,” he added.

On Thursday morning, the rain finally stopped, leaving the sky a pale, cold gray.

Two of Vincent’s men drove me to the federal courthouse in lower Manhattan.

We entered through a secure basement entrance, avoiding the reporters gathered at the front.

Miller met us in a quiet holding room with wood-paneled walls and a long table.

“Are you ready?” Miller asked, looking at me over his glasses.

“Yes,” I said, my voice stronger than I expected.