“We’re lucky, Keith. They’re going to deal. You’ll have to pay a fine, a hefty one. Three times your gain is $2.5 million, but in exchange, they’re willing to forgo pursuing a conviction through the U.S. attorney.”

“That’s . . . ah . . . that’s a big number. But I guess I can earn it back in a few years, right?” Keith turns away from the wall and runs his hand through his hair, filled with a strange relief. “Thank you, Carl. Thanks so much.”

“It’s not all good news, Keith,” Carl says. There’s a long pause on the line. “You don’t have to admit fault, but you will be barred from the securities industry for five years.”

“What?” Keith speaks in a near-whisper. “I . . . I can’t do that. There must be some other way.”

“There isn’t.” Carl’s voice is firm. “I already talked them down from ten, which is standard for your case. This is a deal-breaker, Keith: it’s either the fine and five-year bar or a trial. And we’ve discussed why you can’t go to trial.”

“Banking is all I know,” Keith protests weakly. “How . . .” His voice cracks a bit. “How am I going to provide for my family?”

“You’ll figure it out. You’re a smart guy, Keith. This is a road bump, a big one, but you’ll get past it.”

Keith closes his eyes. He can’t think about this now. He lets out a long breath and lowers his voice. “Carl, listen, the reason I called . . . I’m in Santa Barbara with my daughter, and she’s in some trouble. I need the best criminal attorney you know down here.”

* * *

When Jaya enters the bar, she sees Keith sitting at a quiet corner table with two glasses in front of him. She recalls their family vacations when the kids were young: she and Keith would sneak out of the room for a nightcap after the kids went to bed, going as far as the baby monitor would allow, sometimes just a few feet down the hallway from their room.

“How is she?” Keith asks, as she joins him.

“Asleep. She’s exhausted.” Jaya picks up her glass for a sip. His is already half gone.

“I can’t believe . . .” He shakes his head. “She seemed so happy in December. We were talking about graduate school, for god’s sake.” Keith is quiet for a moment. “When I think of what she’s been through.” He runs a hand through his hair. “How did I miss it—the signs, the lies?”

Jaya surprises herself by reaching out and clasping his hand. “I missed it too. The important thing is where we go from here, what we do now.”

“I spoke to an attorney,” Keith says. “He’s coming by here in the morning to discuss options, but I think we probably need to go back to the police.”

Jaya nods, her shoulders beginning to relax. She rarely drinks these days, and two deep sips in, she is already feeling the effects of the smooth, expensive Scotch.