Vance had given me in the archive corridor three days before.

I unzipped the top of the leather bag and touched the corner of the sealed envelope inside.

Spencer and Rosalind thought I’d signed their document out of worn-out defeat, desperate to get away from six years of public blame and quiet loneliness.

They had no idea that the blue folder in my bag held the unaltered laboratory logs from St.

Jude Clinic, signed by Dr.