Sign the Papers Mr. Langford novel Chapter 174

Scott pushed the envelope across the table.

"Photocopies. Fragmented, incomplete pieces. You'll understand when you read them."

Wren slipped on a pair of gloves before opening it.

There were only three sheets of paper inside.

The first was an old meeting sign-in sheet.

The photocopy was faded and gray, blurring several names into unreadable smudges.

But Wren immediately spotted Vivian Vance.

Below her name were Silas Langford, Scott Clarke, and Quentin Whitaker.

The second page was an early project directory from the foundation.

One line was circled in red ink.

*Project Morning Star Phase I.*

Beside it read: *Pediatric cardiac screening auxiliary equipment trial.*

The third page was the most mangled.

It looked like a torn corner copied from a larger memorandum, leaving only a few legible lines.

*Core modules provided by The Vance Team.*

*Usage strictly limited to charitable screening.*

*Subsequent licensing to be negotiated separately.*

Wren locked onto the words "The Vance Team."

"The Vance Team... that's my mother?"

Scott nodded. "It should be."

"Should be?"

"This is everything I have," Scott explained. "A lot of the Project Morning Star documents were never kept at the foundation. We just provided the charitable umbrella. The actual equipment, systems, and data ultimately ended up with Langford Medical and their partner hospitals."

Wren's fingertips slowly pressed against the edge of the paper.

"So, this doesn't prove anything."

"Correct," Scott said, meeting her eyes. "It doesn't."

It was a brutal truth.

But it was infinitely better than false comfort.

Scott continued, "These papers only prove your mother was involved with Project Morning Star. They don't prove system ownership, they don't explain the Langfords' true role in the project, and they certainly don't prove what the Whitakers might have done."

Wren closed her eyes.

Wren watched him.

She thought she would be furious.

Strangely, she wasn't.

She just felt freezing cold.

So when someone died, even the questions they left behind were smothered by the living for their own self-preservation.

Not everyone was inherently evil.

Some were simply afraid. Afraid of getting caught in the crossfire.

But cowardice could be just as lethal.

Scott pulled a small sticky note from the envelope.

"This one isn't a copy."

Wren took it.

The paper was aged, the ink fading into a pale shadow of itself.

There was only a single sentence written on it.

[The Cobalt Folder. Do not give it to Quentin.]