I closed the drawer exactly as I’d found it, wiped the brass handle with a tissue, and returned to the hallway.

The surgical administration floor looked perfectly ordinary — white walls, framed awards, photographs of Nathan shaking hands with governors and donors and board members.

A man adored by the public needs walls full of witnesses.

At the nurses’ station, an older woman in navy scrubs was organizing charts. Her badge read Denise Carter, RN.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m looking for Vanessa.”

Her expression changed — almost invisibly, a slight tightening around her mouth, a quick glance toward the elevators. “Vanessa who?”