On this occasion, with no one there to mind me, I ran onto the stage and pulled the rabbit from the hat when my grandfather looked away. The audience screamed in delight. When Grandfather turned around, the rabbit was gone and so was I. He didn’t realize I’d stolen the rabbit and continued on with the routine, baffled as to why he didn’t get the laughs in the right places.

At the end of the effect, when it was time to produce the rabbit, he reached into the hat and his face turned red. The rabbit was gone. Suddenly he knew why everything was off. Then he saw me in the wings cuddling his finale.

I’d seen his enough of his temper to be frightened. Rather than run away, I joined him onstage, handed him the rabbit, and said in my high-pitched voice, “Don’t be angry, Grandpa! You can pet him too!”

The audience roared. Grandfather’s scowl melted. He knew a good bit when he saw it. I was in the act from then on.

Until he taught me the trick with the red sponge balls two years later, he’d never thought of teaching me to be more than a prop. I was used onstage but never as a magician until I took the initiative.

Since then, I’ve been on national television and performed for tens of thousands of people in outdoor arenas in Asia. But none of that has prepared me for this. I look at Ailes, not sure what I’m supposed to do. He taps his pen to my folder with its single page of notes.

I decide to just start talking and let my brain catch up. Just stick to what I know and not go into some bullshit theory about how I think the Warlock sees things—a mistake I’ve seen a lot of green analysts make.

I take a breath. “What we saw was a trick. I mean that in the strictest sense of the word. This is a magic trick designed to fool us and keep us fooled.”

Ailes and Knoll are waiting for me to continue. “A trick assumes a trickster—a magician. There are two kinds of magicians: the type that acknowledges to the audience that what he’s doing is a trick, and the kind that uses deception to pretend he’s the real thing—like a psychic or a spoon bender. The first one just wants your attention. The second type wants to continue to deceive you. He wants you to believe in him.”

Knoll raises a pen. “Why?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Dr. Chisholm or behavioral analysis would have to answer that. I can only tell you about the kind of magicians I’m aware of.” I point to the screen and the girl’s hellish scream. “This man is the second type. He doesn’t want us to know how he did his trick. He wants us to believe in him. He wants us to believe he’s real. He’s not just trying to prove how clever he is. He doesn’t just want our attention. He wants us to think this is a miracle. Maybe he knows that a room full of people like us won’t be fooled into believing that a man can raise the dead, but he knows some of the public will be. A dead girl crawling out of the ground who spontaneously erupts in flames? That’s a powerful idea.” I think of what Gladys told me. “No matter how much science and logic we have on our side, if there’s any room for doubt because we can’t figure it out, he’ll consider a win. It’s about the spectacle.”