“A patient who was admitted here approximately ten years ago under highly unusual circumstances.”

Dr. Kenneth let out a dry, short laugh that had no warmth in it.

“Our patient records are strictly confidential, Mr. Whitmore,” he said.

“Even for someone with your resources, I cannot simply hand over medical files to private citizens.”

“We are not asking for a file,” I said, unable to keep quiet any longer.

“We just need you to confirm a name.”

Dr. Kenneth looked at me, his eyes cold, analytical, and dismissive.

“I am afraid that is impossible,” he said, his tone final.

“The law is very clear on patient privacy.”

Charles reached into his inner coat pocket once more and pulled out a thick, white envelope.

He placed it on the mahogany desk, right between two neat stacks of medical charts.

It made a heavy, soft thud against the polished wood.

Dr. Kenneth looked down at the envelope, his eyes tracking the width of the paper.

“There is fifty thousand dollars in cash in that envelope,” Charles said, his voice entirely flat and devoid of emotion.