Sign the Papers Mr. Langford novel Chapter 142

The interior of the old archives was even colder than the outside.

Several lights in the hallway were burnt out, and faded medical propaganda posters hung on the walls. Dust coated the stair railings, and their footsteps echoed lightly in the empty stairwell.

The door to the third-floor reading room was slightly ajar.

Wren pushed it open.

The room was empty.

There was only a manila envelope sitting on the desk by the window.

Phoebe grabbed her arm before she could step forward. "Don't touch it."

Wren nodded.

She put on a pair of gloves, took a picture to document the envelope's position, and carefully peeled open the seal.

It wasn't a thick stack of files like she'd expected.

There were only three items inside.

A vintage photograph.

A torn photocopy of a donor list.

And a sticky note with some handwriting.

There were five people in the photograph.

A young Vivian Vance stood on the far left, wearing a crisp white blouse with her hair pulled back, her expression sharp and aloof. Beside her was Margaret Langford, looking far less frail than she did now. Further to the right stood a young Quentin Whitaker, Silas Langford, and a middle-aged man Wren didn't recognize.

There was a single line written on the back of the photo.

Project Morning Star phase one, equipment testing complete.

Wren's fingers stilled.

Equipment testing.

This wasn't just a charity screening.

Phoebe saw it too, her expression shifting. "Wasn't Project Morning Star a foundation initiative? Why does it say equipment testing?"

Wren didn't answer.

She picked up the torn list.

Half of the page had been ripped away, leaving only a few names and figures. Next to Vivian Vance's name, there was no donation amount, only a handwritten note: Core system authorization, temporarily deposited.

Temporarily deposited.

Not donated.

Not transferred.

Temporarily deposited.

Wren felt an suffocating wave of shock crash over her.

She had always assumed her mother simply collaborated with Langford Medical's old production line. But if the core system was only temporarily held by the foundation or Langford Medical, then how exactly did Langford's medical equipment division rise to power? What did her mother have to do with it?

The handwriting on the final sticky note was unfamiliar.

It only said one thing.

[Don't let Quentin Whitaker know you have this.]

Phoebe cursed under her breath. "Is this guy trying to help you or terrify you?"

Wren photographed each item but didn't immediately pack away the originals.

"Neither," she said. "He's testing me."

"Testing you for what?"

"To see how much I know, and whether I have the nerve to keep digging."

Just as she spoke, a faint click echoed from the end of the hallway.

It sounded like a door being bumped.

Phoebe immediately killed her flashlight and pulled Wren behind a bookshelf.

The old reading room plunged back into darkness.

The footsteps grew closer.

There was more than one person.

This wasn't a woman who would simply let herself be betrayed by her husband and replaced by a mistress.

This was a woman who had once stood at the absolute center of Langford Medical's core operations.

Wren suddenly realized how little she actually knew about her mother.

So little that all she remembered was her pale, sickly appearance, Quentin's fake grief at the funeral, and the casual way Lydia had brought Willow into their home, declaring, "We're all one family now."

She had never known that Vivian Vance had lost far more than just her marriage.

Her phone buzzed.

It was Lawrence.

Wren glanced at the screen but didn't pick up.

A few seconds later, a text came through.

[We need to see each other before the foundation gala.]

Wren stared at the message, her eyes turning glacial.

Lawrence wanted to negotiate appearances.

Willow wanted to steal her place.

Eleanor wanted to use the gala to put her down.

And someone in the Whitaker family was terrified she would dig up the past.

But now, she finally held the first piece of the puzzle.

She texted him back.

[Fine. We can discuss our public stance for the gala, and we can discuss Vivian Vance.]

Lawrence didn't reply for a long time.

Wren locked her phone and looked out the window.

In the dead of night, the old archives faded into the distance.

But she knew that starting tonight, some buried secrets could never be hidden away again.