Then she shrugs. And I hear the rest—what’s rattling around in her mind, what’s rattling around in mine: Owen is the chief coder. How could he not know that Avett was inflating the value of the software that he was working on, the software that wasn’t yet working? If anyone would know, wouldn’t it have to be him?

“Max did say that the FBI thinks most of the senior staff were either in on it, or complicit in looking the other way. Everyone thought they could fix the glitch before anyone caught on. Apparently, they were close. If not for this one tip to the SEC, they might have pulled it off.”

“Who tipped them off?”

“No idea. But that’s why the raid. They wanted to shut it all down before Avett disappeared. With the two hundred and sixty million dollars’ worth of stock he’s quietly been off-loading…” She pauses. “For months now.”

“Holy crap,” I say.

“Yep. Anyway, Max found out ahead of time. About the raid. So the FBI cut a deal with him. If he agreed not to break the story before they went in, they’d give him a two-hour lead on the raid. The Chronicle beat everyone. The Times. CNN. NBC. Fox. He was so proud of himself that he had to tell me. And I don’t know… My first instinct was to call Owen. Well, my first instinct was to call you, but I couldn’t reach you. So then I called Owen.”

“To warn him?”

“Yes,” she says. “To warn him.”

“Why are you feeling badly about that? Because he ran?” I say.

It’s the first time I have said it out loud. The obvious truth. And yet saying it out loud makes me feel better somehow. At least it’s honest. Owen ran. He is running. He isn’t, just simply, gone.

Jules nods and I swallow hard, fight back against the tears rising up.

“That’s not on you,” I say. “You could have lost your job warning him. You were trying to help. How on earth would I be mad at you for that? I’m just mad at Owen.” I pause, considering that. “I’m not even exactly mad at Owen. I’m more numb. And just trying to figure out what he’s possibly thinking. How he thinks this isn’t bad for him, to take off like this.”

“What have you come up with?” she asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe he is trying to exonerate himself? But why not do that from here? Get a lawyer. Let the system clear you…” I say. “I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something, you know? I’m missing what kind of help he is looking for.”