Every time my brother-in-law drove me home, I would lose consciousness and wake up with unexplained aches and pains. My husband would only laugh and say, “You’re just out of shape, that’s all.” After the fourth ride, I secretly slipped a voice recorder into my purse and said nothing. That night, I listened to a phone conversation between the two of them that revealed my blackouts had never been accidental.

A document examiner would handle comparisons; I would not try to declare a forgery from the shape of a letter alone.

Something else bothered me.

Vanessa had been pictured at a ribbon-cutting beside Julian.

Why would a company conducting supposedly confidential medical evaluations invite a distribution executive into patient decisions?

Julian liked to feel indispensable, but secrecy at that level seemed designed to protect the organizers, not the patients.

I searched a public archive of business filings, then stopped myself.

Detective Ellis had repeatedly warned me not to contact employees or visit the annex.

I was exhausted enough to make a dangerous mistake in pursuit of one more fact.