Keller nodded. “It looks like an accident,” she said, “but when an American dies abroad under unusual circumstances, we need to look into it.”

“I get it,” Milbank said. “We’ve received several calls from reporters. After that TV show, Evan was something of a celebrity.”

“How long did Mr. Pine work here?” Keller already knew this, but needed to begin somewhere, get him talking.

“In this office, about seven years. Before that, he was with the Omaha branch for nearly twenty years. The firm let him transfer because of that business with his son. The family needed a fresh start.” He didn’t mention firing Pine.

“Could you tell me who Mr. Pine’s closest friends were in the office?”

Milbank let out a breath. “Evan wasn’t really close with anyone here. That was sort of the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“Evan never really engaged with the office. He was always distracted, preoccupied. The first couple of years we just thought it was the transition. But it didn’t change. Until the documentary aired, we didn’t understand the extent of his struggles.”

“But you kept him on for several years.” Keller said this as an observation, not a question.

“He had a major account,” Milbank explained. “Adair Irrigation was pretty loyal to him. Stuck by him for nearly all of that time, even after the Netflix show. An executive there apparently was an old friend of Evan’s father-in-law.”

“I gather something changed? I mean, I understand you let him go recently.”

Milbank shifted in his chair. “Evan’s contact at Adair retired and the new person shuffled the deck chairs and a different team took over finance. Evan had delegated nearly all the day-to-day work to others at our firm, and when the new Adair team came in…”

“Did the documentary have anything to do with it?” Keller asked. She didn’t have to say why. Evan Pine came off like a man obsessed, a little unhinged, even. Not someone you’d want handling your finances.

“It didn’t help,” Milbank said.

Keller considered Milbank. His gray suit complemented his thick gray hair. He wasn’t trying to rush her, wasn’t impolite or arrogant. But Milbank was still on edge, she could sense it.

“When was the last time you spoke to Evan?”

Milbank thought about this. “It’s been probably a year.”

Keller gave an expression of surprise.

“His direct supervisor told him he was being let go,” Milbank said, anticipating the question.

How gracious, after more than two decades with the company. Keller felt a surge of anger. Evan had a family, four kids, and they’d unceremoniously shown him the door.

Keller examined her notes. She could go on asking all her questions, but it would be a waste of time. She’d conducted hundreds of interviews during her career. Continuing down this path would just be spinning her wheels.

Devin Milbank was smiling again, playing the cooperative corporate executive. Keller thought about Evan Pine’s internet searches again. His plan to kill himself to save his family from financial ruin. And she thought of this man not even showing the courtesy of firing Evan to his face. Keller decided to take Stan’s advice: no more analysis paralysis. She glanced at the lawyer, who wasn’t paying attention, eyes on his phone.

“Just a couple more questions, and I’ll let you get back to your day,” Keller said.

“Of course,” Milbank said. “Anything to help.”

“How long has the Sinaloa been a client at the firm?” Keller held Milbank’s gaze.

The man was still for a long beat, as if forcing himself to show no reaction. The lawyer wasn’t staring at his phone anymore.

“I thought we were here to talk about Evan Pine,” the lawyer said. “As I understand it, Mr. Pine had only one major account, so I don’t—”

“It relates to Mr. Pine,” Keller said. It wasn’t a lie. She had intended to talk to Pine about whether he knew anything incriminating against the firm that had fired him. But it didn’t matter whether it was true. What a lot of people didn’t know was that law enforcement can lie with impunity to suspects.

Milbank spoke: “I’m not familiar with that name, but in any event we keep our clients’ affairs in confidence. I’m not sure I understand why—”

“It’s a simple question.”

Milbank’s eyes moved to the lawyer.

“Agent Keller, we’d be more than happy to set up an appointment and discuss anything the FBI would like, but I’m going to advise Mr. Milbank not to answer any more questions.”

“Need to call Mexico first?” Keller said. She clicked her pen one time.

The lawyer stood. “I’m afraid this interview is over.”

Another thing people usually didn’t know about the system: a suspect who isn’t under arrest can walk out of an interrogation and even be outright rude to law enforcement.

Keller shook her head. “And we were getting along so well.” She didn’t leave her seat.

The lawyer and Milbank were both standing. “I’d like to know the name of your supervising agent,” the lawyer said. “I don’t think he’d appreciate how you’re—”

Keller held up a hand to silence him as she casually glanced at her phone. She just scrolled her feed, finally looking up at them.

The two men stared at Keller, not clear what to make of her. She wasn’t getting up to leave. She just sat there like she didn’t have a care in the world.

The lawyer started to speak again, but Keller held up a finger, shushing him a second time.

“Hold on.” She tilted her head, cupped a hand around her ear as if she were trying to hear something. After a long moment she said, “There it is.”

Milbank and the lawyer looked baffled.

Then came the sound of heavy footsteps. The door burst open, the glass walls vibrating, and in charged a tall man in a suit and cowboy boots, followed by half a dozen men and women in blue windbreakers.

Keller tried not to gloat as Cal Buchanan handed the lawyer a search warrant. The lawyer read the document and turned as white as the papers.

“Call everyone to the conference room,” Buchanan barked at the head of Marconi Chicago and its general counsel. “Now!”

Stan was right about Cal: BSD.

Standing at last, Keller held out her hand, gesturing to Milbank. “Please give me your phone.”

The lawyer moved his heavyset frame between Keller and Milbank, his face red with anger.

“Please step aside,” Keller said calmly.

The lawyer held his ground.

“Have it your way,” Keller said. She whirled the lawyer around and cuffed him.

She’d likely hear about this later. Pinstriped lawyers didn’t take kindly to being physically restrained. Out of the corner of her eye she caught an admiring look from Cal Buchanan. Who’s the BSD now? Keller thought.

Keller left the agents to do their thing. The files, she hoped, would reveal dirt on the lower-level people, who would turn on their bosses, provide the human factor her case against Marconi was lacking. If not, they’d have to go with just the documents.

Keller navigated around the employees shuffling to the conference room, and made her way to the elevator. On the ride down, she thought about the interview, how the temperature in the room had changed when she’d switched the topic from Evan Pine to the cartel.

Her instincts told her two things: First, the Chicago office of Marconi LLP would be shuttered within the year. Second, the firm had nothing to do with the death of the Pines.

CHAPTER 31

OLIVIA PINE

BEFORE

Liv drove home from Lincoln feeling excited, giddy almost. Her father would be allowed to stay in the nursing home. She’d come to Adair to solve a problem and she did it. She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. She felt a sense of accomplishment. She called Cindy to give her the news and check in on Tommy, and even her morose sister sounded impressed.

Liv’s thoughts meandered as she cruised the interstate. She opened both front windows, and flashed to an image of herself as a teenager, driving too fast in her father’s station wagon, the wind blasting through the cabin, her hair dancing in the tornado. She didn’t crank up the music—that was Evan and Danny’s thing. Instead she listened to the howl of the wind.