“But she’s wrong.”

I got up from the vinyl chair, walked out into the corridor, and stopped at the main nurses’ desk.

The receptionist was typing on a computer behind the high counter.

“Is this the envelope Attorney Vance left?” I asked, pointing to the cream-colored envelope beside the desk lamp.

“Yes, ma’am,” the nurse said, looking up.

“He said it was urgent personal correspondence for Valerie.”

I picked up the thick envelope, carried it down the quiet hallway to the sanitation station, and dropped Lawrence Vance’s sealed draft agreement into the heavy waste bin by the double doors.