evidence, “all threats made by ___________________ to Scott Stammers,” and “all killings carried out at the directive of ___________________.”

But ultimately both Hunter and Stammers would end up where most federal defendants do. Several weeks after Kirton’s filing, be- fore the judge in the case had even ruled on it, Hunter changed his plea to guilty. Six months later, in August 2015, Stammers fol- lowed suit. Eventually, all ten defendants across both cases would do the same, pleading guilty and throwing themselves on the mercy of the court.

By the beginning of 2016, I’d been following these cases for two and half years, and Le Roux’s name had never so much as been mentioned in an open courtroom. In court, lawyers for the defen- dants in New York were not only required to redact his name in filings, but to use elaborate hypotheticals to discuss anything re- lated to Le Roux. “Imagine that you have the godfather,” one at- torney proposed to the judge, in a lengthy back and forth in open court. “A man who is immersed in the most horrific and pro- nounced crimes you can think of, including murders, and this god- father has his own security team that’s involved in helping him carry out murders in organized crime.”

At first the fanatical secrecy made sense: Through at least mid- 2014, Le Roux was essentially an undercover DEA operative in U.S. custody. By virtue of his cooperation, agents were able to build their elaborate sting operations around the fiction that he was still out in the world; it was essential that his subordinates believe Le Roux was still free, calling the shots. But once the un- derlings had been arrested, the utility of that fiction evaporated. After his name became international news in December 2014, it was rendered ridiculous. Le Roux might have been able to con- vince Oz that a 2013 Brazilian newspaper story about him was fake news, but the revelation in The New York Times that he was in U.S. custody ended his life as pretend drug boss.