We weren’t dealing with proof.
Only fragments.
Memories.
Old documents.
Half-heard sentences.
Stephen continued.
“Large employers sponsored health studies all the time. Occupational medicine, environmental exposure, family health histories. The existence of a study doesn’t mean wrongdoing.”
“But Claire thought something was wrong.”
“Apparently.”
Daniel was staring through the windshield.
“My mother said Claire left papers.”
We spent that afternoon searching Evelyn’s old house.
Daniel had never sold it after moving her into assisted living.
The place smelled of dust and furniture polish.
Three hours produced nothing.
Then I remembered Claire had babysat Daniel.
A teenager hiding something might choose a place connected to a child because adults wouldn’t search it.
“Your room,” I said.
Daniel frowned.
“What?”
“Your childhood bedroom.”
We went upstairs.
It had become storage.
Old trophies.
Board games.
A wooden desk.
Daniel laughed quietly.
“Claire painted that.”
“What?”
He pointed to a tiny blue star on the side.
