THE RECORDS Anne's POV The envelope arrived on a Tuesday morning. There was nothing remarkable about the way it appeared — no courier with a name, no official seal, no dramatic announcement. It was simply there, delivered through an intermediary I had designated specifically for this purpose, sitting on my desk when I arrived at the office just before eight. A standard manila envelope, sealed with a strip of tape, the kind of ordinary packaging that was its own kind of camouflage. What it contained, however, was anything but ordinary. I closed my office door and sat down before opening it. Inside were photocopies. Dozens of them. Internal correspondence from the company dating back more than fifteen years, contract drafts with annotations in handwriting I did not yet recognise, transfer documents bearing signatures I would need to verify, and one folder labelled in faded ink with a set of dates that aligned almost precisely with the period in which Maxwell's family had lost
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