A pale winter sun struggled to break through the clouds over Chicago, casting a weak, watery light across the city. George stood at the window of his apartment, watching the first flakes of snow begin to fall. It had been three weeks since his last press conference, three weeks since he'd revealed the truth about David Blackwood's murder. The silence that followed had been strange, almost unsettling after years of constant revelations and chaos.
He'd spent the night going through the documents again, reading and rereading the letters, the journals, the confessions. There was something about them that bothered him. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. A name, a date, a detail that didn't quite fit.
Sam found him there, her footsteps soft on the hardwood floor. She placed a cup o
