The federal courtroom on North Spring Street had a particular quality of light that I had always found clarifying the kind that came through high, narrow windows and fell across the proceedings with the specific impartiality of something that didn't care who won.
I had stood in this light many times.
Today I was sitting in the gallery watching the man I had signed a contract with three weeks ago settle into the witness box with the contained, deliberate calm of someone who had been preparing for this moment for six years and was in no hurry now that it had arrived.
Lucian Knight on a witness stand was a different creature from Lucian Knight in a boardroom or a safe house or a candlelit dining room with mismatched candle holders. The boardroom version was predatory. The safe house versio
