SERA
“Whatever is in that file,” Dr. Cole said, “it did not come from Margaret willingly.”
Sera sat across from her with both hands flat on the table. Eight fourteen in the morning. The office smelled like old paper and cold coffee and the particular stillness of a room where difficult things got said on a regular basis.
“What do you mean?” Sera asked.
“The documents Margaret submitted last night were everything Elliot demanded. The patent correspondence. The Calloway arrangement. The hospital record.” Dr. Cole opened the folder in front of her slowly, like someone handling something that might still be warm. “But there was a second envelope. Separate. No covering letter. No instruction. Delivered by hand at eleven forty-seven last night by someone who was not Margaret’s attorney.”
Se
