Diana's office on Delancey Street looked different when I came in the second time. Smaller, mostly. The manila envelopes were gone. In their place, on the desk, was a single banker's box, packed so full the lid didn't sit flat.
"I've done what you asked," Diana said. She was standing behind the desk. She didn't sit, and she didn't offer us chairs. "Every transfer since the foundation started. Every deposit into Harborlight. Every payment to Foster, to Daniel, to the estate. It's all there. I've also written a statement. It's in the top folder. You can use it however you want."
I looked at the box. "Why now?"
"Because you were right." She looked at me, and for the first time the courtesy was gone, and what was underneath was something I recognized: a woman who'd been carrying a lie for s
