Charles shakes his head. “That won’t be necessary,” he says, with the kind of expression you have when you know the time has come to do something you’ve been avoiding for a long time.
He walks to a desk at the far end of the room and opens the side drawer. “When I found out about Faith’s failed deal, I hired some . . .” he says, pausing to find a word, “fixers, if you will. They looked into Bill Stark. They found some interesting things. Here,” he says, pulling out a thick manila envelope that he hands to me. The envelope contains dozens of pages of Illinois Department of Corrections letterhead with hundreds of entries for orders at the dispensary. I flip through the documents. Each order made by WHS is highlighted. There are dozens of orders through the dispensary. I’m sure if I compare
