His voice dropped.
“And because he knew exactly what to say to make me keep it.”
I waited.
Wade glanced toward the medical records in my hand. “He said, ‘If you tell her and she misses one treatment because she comes to me, and she dies, you’ll have to live with knowing why.’”
I recoiled.
“He put that on you?”
“Yes.”
“And you let him.”
“Yes.”
I looked at the papers again.
I could not decide whether to be furious at Randall for manipulating Wade or furious at Wade for being manipulated.
Both seemed insufficient.
I returned to the box.
At the bottom, beneath another envelope, was a brass key.
A white plastic tag hung from it.
I held it by the tag.
“What’s this?”
Wade’s gaze fixed on the key.
“I don’t know everything that’s in there.”
“Where?”
“A storage facility.”
“Where?”
“Near Wilmington.”
