Unfortunately, Paradis sur Terre was an easy target. A vanity project, Ivins called it, a money pit. I’d already read every media piece I could find about PsT, and I’d also watched a feature-length documentary about what the filmmakers called the Miracle in Myanmar. But I sat and listened while Barrett waxed poetic about the company’s grand experiment in the jungle, its vision for what an ideal manufacturing facility could be. He described the state-of-the-art engineering and the near-utopian conditions for the two thousand employees recruited to work there. “Of course, it lost money in the short run,” he said. “If we’d had only a couple more years, we could have shown the world a way to be both profitable and humane.” But the shareholders had no patience, and the board felt it had no choice but to shut down PsT.

Then a second miracle happened: the sell-off of the Myanmar assets proved to be so phenomenally successful that the operating losses were more than wiped out. The real estate appreciation was enormous, since the company made such enormous improvements to the property, bringing in electricity, water, and Wi-Fi, and building the factory, dormitories, dining hall, not to mention the roads and the airstrip.

“Yes, I was curious about the airstrip,” I said, recalling the misfiled air charter contracts.

He ignored me. “There was actually a bidding war for our equipment, as everyone hoped to reverse-engineer it—it was that cutting-edge.”

“Wow,” I murmured.

“So—” He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and rubbed his hands together. “What contribution can you make?”

I sat up straight. At last, my moment to shine. “I’ve given that a lot of thought,” I said. “I think the Raul decision out of Delaware last year gives us a clear basis for knocking out the third cause of action in the complaint. I took the liberty of drafting—”

“No. No.” Barrett waved a dismissive hand. “Our outside counsel can take care of all that.”

“But they didn’t include that in their—”

“What we need you to contribute—”

Too late I realized his question was merely rhetorical. My cheeks flamed, and I sat back again.

“—is the collection and review of the documents we have to produce to Ivins in discovery. He’s demanded all the company’s documents showing income and expenses at each of our facilities. We objected, of course—it’s obviously a fishing expedition—but the judge is a spineless idiot, and she ruled we have to comply.”

I made a sympathetic noise.

“So we’ve had all the documents shipped here from our factories as well as from our various Asian law firms and brokers, et cetera. I need you to go through them, sort out what’s responsive and what isn’t, and get them to our outside counsel to deliver to Ivins.”

“Okay.” I tried not to show how deflated I was. “Although—Well, typically that’s more a paralegal’s function?”

“Yes, and you’ll have one.” Barrett tilted his head back and spoke to the ceiling. “Marcia, get Lester up here.”