Chapter 7: The Briefcase
Raymond's hands were steady as he opened the briefcase.
Inside were two manila folders, a bound set of printed spreadsheets, and a USB drive in a small plastic case.
He didn't look at Marcus.
He looked at Grace.
"Four years of internal transfers," he said.
"Flagged and cross-referenced against the company's declared earnings.
The discrepancy is four point three million dollars." He set the folders on the chair beside the briefcase.
"I also have the original will.
The one Robert signed six months before he passed.
And the legal correspondence from the contest Marcus filed."
Grace picked up the first folder.
She opened it, scanned the first page, and turned to the second.
Marcus hadn't moved.
"Raymond." His voice was very quiet.
"You need to think about what you're doing."
"I've been thinking about it for two years," Raymond said.
"You signed a confidentiality agreement when Robert passed.
You are in direct violation—"
"I signed an agreement about Robert's estate." Raymond finally looked at him.
"Not about crjme."
The word landed in the lobby like something dropped from a height.
Marcus turned to me.
The smoothness was gone now.
What replaced it was harder and colder.
"You think this folder changes anything?
You think a retired accountant and a screenshot are going to hold up against our company's legal team?"
"That's a good question," Grace said, without looking up from the folder.
"You should ask your legal team." She turned a page.
"Specifically, you should ask them about the forensic audit the state attorney's office is going to open this week."
Marcus went still.
"I filed a preliminary complaint this morning," Grace said.
"Based on the bloodwork report, the transfer documents, and the text message." She looked up.
"The bloodwork came back an hour ago.
The compound in Mark's system is used in exactly one context — controlled sedation during medical procedures.
It is not a cardiac medication.
It is not something that appears in a person's bloodstream by accident."
"Mark had a cardiac event—"
"Mark had no cardiac history.
No risk factors.
He is thirty-nine years old." Grace closed the folder.
"Dr.
Salgado's medical license is currently under review by the Illinois Department of Financial and Professional Regulation.
That call was made at seven this morning.
He has not yet been reached for comment."
Marcus looked at me.
Then at Raymond.
Then at Grace.
"I want a lawyer," he said.
"That would be wise," Grace said.
He pulled out his phone.
His hands, I noticed, were not entirely steady.
He walked toward the far end of the lobby, his back to us, his voice dropping to something I couldn't hear.
Raymond let out a long breath.
He looked older than he had sounded on the phone.
Tired in a way that went deeper than one sleepless night.
"I'm sorry," he said to me.
"I should have come forward sooner."
"You came forward when it mattered," I said.
He nodded slowly.
He didn't look entirely convinced, but he nodded.
Grace touched my arm.
"Go back upstairs.
Be with Mark.
I'll handle what happens next down here." She paused.
"Don't speak to Marcus again without me present."
I took the elevator back up.
The hallway was quiet.
Through the small window in Mark's door, I could see him sitting up in bed, and beside him, cross-legged on the blanket, was Chloe.
She was talking.
He was listening.
His hand was on her knee.
I stood in the hallway for a moment and didn't go in.
Then Chloe looked up and saw me through the glass.
Her face opened into something I hadn't seen in three days.
She waved.
I pushed the door open.
"I told you to stay with Aunt Diane."
"She fell asleep," Chloe said.
"And Daddy was awake."
Mark looked at me over her head.
His eyes asked the question.
"Raymond came," I said.
"He brought everything." I sat on the edge of the bed.
"Grace is downstairs."
"And Marcus?"
"Calling his lawyer."
Mark was quiet for a moment.
Chloe leaned against his shoulder, apparently unbothered by the weight of any of it, the way children can be when the person they were most afraid of losing is right there in front of them.
"Daddy," she said.
"Yeah, bug?"
"I told you your nose was moving."
Mark looked at her.
Then he laughed — a real one, short and rough and slightly painful-sounding.
He winced and pressed a hand to his ribs.
"You did," he said.
May you like
"You were right."
"I know," Chloe said.
