My first instinct was to go knock on his door. Just show up and ask him what he knew.
But I’d been in prison for four years. I knew how that would look. A convicted felon showing up uninvited at an old man’s house, asking questions about money.
So instead, I asked Helen to reach out to him. Formally. Through her office. A request for an interview,
with his own lawyer present if he wanted.
I didn’t expect him to say yes.
He said yes.
Gordon came to Helen’s office on a Wednesday afternoon. He was wearing a sweater vest. He looked thinner than I remembered, and older, and very nervous. His hands were shaking. He was
carrying an old, battered accordion folder, held shut with a thick rubber band.
When he saw me, he stopped in the doorway.
“Rebecca,” he said.
“Hi, Gordon.”
He sat down across from me at Helen’s conference table. He put the folder on the table and kept
