Milbank shifted in his chair. “Evan’s contact at Adair retired and the new person shuffled the deck chairs and a different team took over finance. Evan had delegated nearly all the day-to-day work to others at our firm, and when the new Adair team came in…”

“Did the documentary have anything to do with it?” Keller asked. She didn’t have to say why. Evan Pine came off like a man obsessed, a little unhinged, even. Not someone you’d want handling your finances.

“It didn’t help,” Milbank said.

Keller considered Milbank. His gray suit complemented his thick gray hair. He wasn’t trying to rush her, wasn’t impolite or arrogant. But Milbank was still on edge, she could sense it.

“When was the last time you spoke to Evan?”

Milbank thought about this. “It’s been probably a year.”

Keller gave an expression of surprise.

“His direct supervisor told him he was being let go,” Milbank said, anticipating the question.

How gracious, after more than two decades with the company. Keller felt a surge of anger. Evan had a family, four kids, and they’d unceremoniously shown him the door.

Keller examined her notes. She could go on asking all her questions, but it would be a waste of time. She’d conducted hundreds of interviews during her career. Continuing down this path would just be spinning her wheels.

Devin Milbank was smiling again, playing the cooperative corporate executive. Keller thought about Evan Pine’s internet searches again. His plan to kill himself to save his family from financial ruin. And she thought of this man not even showing the courtesy of firing Evan to his face. Keller decided to take Stan’s advice: no more analysis paralysis. She glanced at the lawyer, who wasn’t paying attention, eyes on his phone.

“Just a couple more questions, and I’ll let you get back to your day,” Keller said.

“Of course,” Milbank said. “Anything to help.”

“How long has the Sinaloa been a client at the firm?” Keller held Milbank’s gaze.

The man was still for a long beat, as if forcing himself to show no reaction. The lawyer wasn’t staring at his phone anymore.

“I thought we were here to talk about Evan Pine,” the lawyer said. “As I understand it, Mr. Pine had only one major account, so I don’t—”

“It relates to Mr. Pine,” Keller said. It wasn’t a lie. She had intended to talk to Pine about whether he knew anything incriminating against the firm that had fired him. But it didn’t matter whether it was true. What a lot of people didn’t know was that law enforcement can lie with impunity to suspects.

Milbank spoke: “I’m not familiar with that name, but in any event we keep our clients’ affairs in confidence. I’m not sure I understand why—”

“It’s a simple question.”

Milbank’s eyes moved to the lawyer.