Sienna went looking for context.
It seemed like the responsible thing — not snooping, not prying, just building a picture of who Henry Whitlock had been by working through the materials he’d left her. That was what Marty had suggested. That was what the box of letters implied she was supposed to do. She was simply doing what was expected.
She repeated this to herself while going through Hank’s office.
The filing cabinets were organized with the particular logic of an old man who’d spent decades building systems only he could navigate — chronological in some sections, categorical in others, and then one drawer that appeared to be organized by pure emotional significance, because what else explained why a receipt from a 1987 steak dinner was filed next to a child’s drawing on a torn piece
