“How did you open my drawer, Celeste?” I asked.

She held up a small brass key with a thin smile.

“You left your spare keyring in the console of your car,” she said.

I took the folder from the desk and placed it back inside the drawer.

“This is private medical history,” I said, locking the drawer and putting the key in my pocket.

“Is it?” she asked, leaning against the desk.

“You’ve been acting strange for weeks, Adrian.”

“I have a lot on my mind with the firm,” I lied.

She didn’t look convinced.

She smoothed down her cream-colored wool coat and picked up her leather handbag.

“Don’t forget we have the museum gala on Friday,” she said, moving toward the door.

“I haven’t forgotten,” I said.

She stopped at the threshold and looked back.

“I hope whatever you’re looking for in those old files is worth the trouble,” she said.

Then she walked out, the click of her heels fading down the marble hallway.

As soon as she was gone, I called Marcus back.

“We need to move faster,” I told him.