“I remember,” I said.

“You know I didn’t want any of this,” he said, his eyes scanning my face for any sign of softening. “It was all her. She made the decisions.”

He took a step closer, but the agent held his shoulder.

“I can help you,” Grant whispered. “I can tell you where the real server is. I can give you the names of the off-shore accounts.”

I looked at him, remembering the cold wind on the courthouse steps.

I remembered how he had stood behind his mother, silent, while she ruined my career in front of the cameras.

“Eight years, Grant,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, nodding quickly. “Think about that. I can get you what you need. Just talk to the prosecutor for me.”

“You want a deal,” I said.

“A plea deal,” he said. “Please, Allison. For old times.”

I leaned in closer to him.

“You didn’t say a word on those steps, Grant,” I said, my voice quiet and cold.

“I couldn’t,” he stammered. “She would have cut me off.”

“You chose your money,” I said.

“Allison, please,” he said, his voice cracking.