“Was there an envelope inside?”
A pause followed.
“No, sir. The pockets were empty.”
Daniel arrived shortly before midnight.
He looked older than I remembered. Silver had spread through his hair, and deep lines framed his mouth, but he carried the same composed presence that once calmed rooms filled with frightened officials.
He did not offer condolences or tell me everything would be fine.
He looked through the glass at Jake and said, “He has your eyes.”
“You’ve seen pictures.”
“Pictures aren’t the same.”
We walked to the quiet end of the corridor. I told him about the photograph, the lake house, the alleged file, the recording, and Elaine’s missing letter.
Daniel listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he folded his arms.
“Someone constructed a narrative.”
“You think the file is fake?”
“I think its existence matters more than its authenticity.”
“That sounds like something you’d say when you don’t have an answer.”
