There was a small, silver key on the ring, unmarked and distinct from the others.

I stood up and walked over to the built-in bookshelves behind the desk.

Roman had a private safe hidden behind the leather-bound volumes of family history.

I pushed the books aside, revealing the steel face of the small lockbox.

I inserted the silver key and turned it, hearing the heavy tumblers click into place.

Inside the safe sat a stack of dusty manila folders and a black leather ledger.

I pulled the folders out and laid them on the desk under the green light of the monitor.

The tab on the topmost folder read: *Whitmore, Helen – Medical Records.*

My mother’s name.

I opened the folder, my eyes scanning the typed pages of laboratory results and daily charts.

The dates ran from the final six months of her life, when she was confined to the private clinic.

Mara slipped back into the room, carrying a red plastic medical kit and a bowl of warm water.

“Did you find something?” she asked softly, locking the door behind her.