Chapter Thirty Five
Warren met them the next morning in a small conference room on the executive floor, a single folder centered on the table, his expression carrying none of the clinical distance he usually brought to briefings like this.
“This is not part of the Cassian investigation,” Warren said, before either of them had fully sat down. “I found it going through old company archives, cross-referencing dates for something unrelated. I almost did not bring it to you. I think you need to see it anyway.”
He opened the folder and slid a single page across the table.
Rafael recognized the letterhead before he recognized the handwriting — Knox Aurelius stationery from twenty-five years earlier, the particular slanted script he had not seen in so long he had nearly forgotten what his own
