The copies were waiting for Nash at 11:50 in the café's back office, the same cramped little room where he'd watched Halloway have a total mental breakdown on a screen. The young manager didn't say a word; she just handed him the envelope and headed back to the counter.
Nash took the papers to his Porsche and sat there with the engine off, reading every single one of the forty-one pages. It took him a whole hour. He went through the ledgers, the invoices, the shell companies used to hide money, and that one single signature at the bottom of a page that meant everything. He saved Hector's sworn statement for last. It was only two pages, written so politely you'd use he threatened a child to write it for him.
He tossed the pages onto the passenger seat and gripped the steering wheel, just sitting there for a moment.
This guy... He really brought this to me himself, Nash thought.
