Chapters (33)
“What is all this?”
“The most valuable assets we have.” Rudd pulled out a chair, motioning to sit. “The research of the Corcillium. Into all the cases of the missing, gathered from around the nation. Each one has a file. This is your grandmother’s.”
A photocopy of a letter rested on top of the stack. “These aren’t the originals; those are stored in the shelves around you. But we’ve taken the copies and put them in chronological order so you can understand.”
“Copies of what? I don’t even know what I’m looking at.”
Rudd crossed his arms. “Not even your grandmother has seen the letters that her parents wrote about her disappearance.”
“Letters to whom? The Corcillium?”
Rudd shook his head. “To fully comprehend what you’re facing, you need to read every word. I’m going to leave you to it. It’s not that we don’t trust you—but our friend there in the corner will keep an eye on you. He’ll let me know when you’re done.”
William leaned forward as Rudd walked away, his steel-toed boots crossing the floor to the elevator.
He looked at the letter on top, seeing immediately it was a relic of a different age, the handwriting not just precise, but also elegant. The gentle sweep of the y, the supple o, the gentle dots above the i, all written by a hand not yet ravaged by age.