I stared at it and felt something stir in my memory.
“When I was on placement,” Chloe said softly, “I was assigned to a private patient. A man with late-stage heart failure. Wealthy, difficult, stubborn, and mostly abandoned by his family.”
My mouth went dry.
“His name was Arthur.”
I looked back at the paper.
Then at her. Then back again.
“He had trust papers,” she continued. “Medical directives. Old donation records. I was helping the senior nurse organize some documents one day, and I saw that signature. The exact same one.”
She reached into her bag again and placed copies of legal papers on the table.
There it was.
That same sharp signature. That same odd flourish.
I stared until the letters blurred.
