"You signed it already."
I say it to Victor. Not Richard. Not Julian. Victor. The man sitting straight in that chair with his hands on his knees looking at me like he is waiting for a verdict he has already accepted.
He does not deny it.
"Yes," he says.
One word. Quiet and heavy and carrying twenty years of decisions that all lead to this room at four in the morning.
I look at his signature on the bottom of the page. It is shakier than his usual hand but it is deliberate. He did not sign this under duress. He thought about it. He came here tonight specifically to sign it. He left the car and the note and walked away from us because he did not want me to stop him before he could.
He traded something to get Richard to sign too.
"What did you give him?" I ask. My voice is very level. I
