CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Rachel triple-checked Polidori’s desk drawers to ensure she hadn’t missed anything. She pulled the drawers out completely and reached into the gaping cabinetry, fingertips searching blindly within the shadows. Nothing. She pulled the desk away from the wall; no compartments hidden in the back. She slid underneath it on her back, and stopped short. On the bottom of the thick mahogany apron at the back was another word carved into the wood. She traced it with her finger.
Hamilton.
The letters were careful and etched with what Rachel thought was loving intention. Like Mary, and like Walton. She reached for her camera and took a picture, its outline as crisp as the day it had been dug into the wood. She lay there under the desk a full hour, knowing her subject had lain t
