I barely slept that night, running through everything I needed to do before morning with the same methodical focus I once brought to reviewing a compliance file. At 4 a.m., once Desmond had finally left to “get some rest” at a nearby hotel, I called my attorney, Rosalind Faber, from the hospital bathroom, keeping my voice to a near-whisper.

“I need you to listen to something,” I told her, forwarding the recording before she’d even fully answered. “And I need you to help me figure out how to survive tomorrow without letting either of them know I already know.”