In the elevator, descending, Harvey spoke without looking at him. “The storage unit address. The key.”

Trevor continued. “I don’t want money. I don’t want a job. I want you to put this on. I want you to walk me out of this building, past the security desk, past the partners, and get into the elevator with me. I want them to see Harvey Specter and a guy in his suit. That’s it. That’s the price.”

“A suit.” Trevor unzipped the bag. Inside, nestled on a wire hanger, was a navy Zegna, unworn, tags still attached. “The one Mike stole from you. The one you let him keep. I know you replaced it, but this is the original.”