‘And who owns the foundation?’ I ask, only thinly veiling my irritation: is he being intentionally obtuse so I have to meet up with him? All I want to know is where the buck stops.

‘Foundations don’t have owners, Harper,’ he says. And there’s an edge to his voice that tells me he’s picked up on my inner dialogue.

My mind goes into overdrive. That sounds illegal.

‘Okay,’ I say, resetting my tone to sweet. ‘But I don’t understand though. So, some company with no owners issued a bond worth one hundred million. That doesn’t make sense to me.’

‘Companies raise money this way all the time. There’s nothing strange about that part… but look, let’s talk about all this in person.’

And there it is again.

‘So, they just gave someone a bond worth one hundred million?’

‘No, Harper, usually someone would have to invest capital first. The aim being to get one hundred million out of the deal when the bond matures and the company is worth significantly more. That or the equivalent in shares. It’s speculative.’

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Okay.’ That makes sense.

‘Look, I want to help you with this. I’m guessing there’s a reason you had that picture of the bond to start with, a reason you were looking into it?’

Oh. Right.

That’s why he wants to meet up. He knows I’m onto something. He wants more information.

The fucker wants to steal my story.

He pauses, giving me time to speak up, but I don’t bite. Instead, I start walking again, focusing on my footing because it’s getting dark and there’s dog poop. ‘But I need all the information or I can’t help you piece it together,’ he continues. And then he pauses yet again and waits for me to crack.

But I’m not the kind of girl who cracks.

‘I can’t tell you,’ I say in a small, fragile voice that says I’m cautious but maybe if you try really hard you can manipulate me. ‘I’ll get in trouble.’ But I want to get off the phone now. ‘I’m just about to head into the metro,’ I lie. ‘Chat soon.’ And then we hang up and I can see the sushi place up ahead. I’m passing the laundromat – I need to do my washing soon – and I glance at my reflection in the window. But my gaze catches on the edges of the machines and I’m hit with a tidal wave of memories. That last time I was there my skin smelled of orange blossom and it was the night before they revealed they’d found Sabine’s body. I was watching her entire Vimeo page…

Snippets of her videos flicker in my mind. A crowd… A tall man against the wall…