She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small keycard.
“I took this from his desk.”
Daniel’s brows drew together. “What is it?”
“Access card. Private office. Not at the company. At the foundation.”
The Mitchell Family Foundation.
The polished charity Evelyn paraded at galas. Medical scholarships. Research grants. Hospital wings named after dead relatives and generous donors. I had attended those events like a quiet shadow, smiling for photographs, shaking hands, letting Jason introduce me as his “inspiration” while keeping my actual work buried beneath his name.
Madison held out the card.
“There’s a room behind his office. He called it the archive. I never went in. But yesterday, after court, he went there before coming home. He was carrying a black case when he left.”
