The trial is boring. We sit through several long, tedious, procedural speeches for pieces of evidence the prosecutor wants to introduce.

“Starting to understand why Hope hated being a lawyer so much,” Murphy whispers to me.

What the prosecutor keeps describing, politicians diverting public funds to their friends and taking a percentage on the back-end, doesn’t sound much different from how I assumed the government works anyway. Also sounds pretty similar to some of the club’s business dealings. No big shock there either.

It doesn’t seem like much has been accomplished by the time they break for lunch. No wonder the trial has been scheduled to take at least a month.

After Kelly and his two lawyers walk past us, I nudge Murphy. We end up following behind them to the cafeteria downstairs. It doesn’t seem wise to get too close, so I can’t hear anything that’s being said at their table.

Murphy watches me in silence while he eats a hockey puck-sized hamburger. My tray sits in front of me, untouched. Spilling blood is the only nourishment I need.

“What’s the plan?” Murphy asks.

“I’m not sure yet.”

This probably seems like a waste of our time, but Murphy goes with it, sitting back to check his phone.

My patience is rewarded a few minutes later when the two lawyers check their watches and stand up. They say a few words to their client before walking away.

Finally. The fucker’s alone.

Murphy stands with me and casually picks up our trays. He takes them over to the garbage cans while keeping his eye on the senator. Good to know we’re in sync on this one.

We fall in step behind our mark and follow him out of the cafeteria. Right before the elevator, he ducks through a door to the right.

Is he trying to make a break for it?

No, he’s stepped into the men’s room.

Perfect. The opportunity I’ve been waiting for.

“I’ll stay out here. Make sure no one else comes in,” Murphy says.

I couldn’t find a way to casually ask Lilly what happened to all the shit from her office. The letter opener she told me about is probably long gone. But obviously the one in Sway’s office is similar enough to drive home the point I want to make. That’s why I grabbed it last night and stuck it in the briefcase, figuring the officers wouldn’t think much of it if it was thrown in with a bunch of other office-y junk. And if they had confiscated it, I would have rolled with Plan B.

Luckily, I was right and they didn’t look at it twice.

Now, it’s nestled inside my breast pocket.