"Elena Molina Dawson," Valera whispered with lips that trembled violently. That name felt unfamiliar yet haunting on her tongue. She stared back down at the worn sheet of paper under the illumination of her phone light.
Garrick did not answer. The man stepped forward, every single tap of his leather shoes on the black marble sounding like a verdict handed down in a courtroom. He halted exactly in front of Valera, who was still kneeling on the floor, then leaned down to seize the crimson folder from Valera’s hands with one calm yet indisputable movement.
"You are far too quick to jump to conclusions, Ms. Dawson," Garrick said low, inserting the folder back into the secret drawer, then locking it with the biometric sensor on his wrist. The man straightened his body, staring down at Valera,
