He slid the pen back into his suit pocket and turned his head toward the dark mahogany console table near the foyer archway.

On the dark wood sat a heavy leather-bound Caldwell family album, its gold-embossed spine and brass corners catching the light from the wall sconces.

Richard picked up the album, looked at the embossed family crest on the cover for two seconds, and set it back down beside a silver platter.

“Where are the certified hospital records, Grace?” Richard asked, his voice returning to its sharp courtroom rhythm.

“In my briefcase in the side parlor,” I said.