what looked like a basement or storage room. His hair was disheveled, his face thinner than I remembered, his blue eyes ringed with exhaustion. Somewhere nearby, a furnace hummed.
He looked into the camera and tried to smile.
“Ryker,” he said.
The sound of his voice reached across years and struck me harder than I expected.
“If you’re watching this, I’m either dead, missing, or out of options. I hope it’s the third one, but I’ve worked with numbers too long to ignore probability.”
He glanced off-camera, then back.
“I’m sorry to put this on you. You didn’t ask for my problems. But years ago, I brought you a set of accounts because I believed you deserved to know your name was being used without your knowledge. You acted when you could have buried it. That matters now.”
He swallowed.
“My children are Lily and Owen. They’re five. They like
