Chapter 21
Alicia didn't open the file right away.
She read the tab first. Then the date. Then the name written on the corner in Cassian's handwriting.
"Dr. Sara Chen," she said. "I remember this."
Cassian leaned forward. "You do?"
She nodded once. "It was on the news. Two years ago. Briefly. But it wasn't one of our firm's case"
She finally opened the folder, flipping through it with practiced speed. Not skimming—verifying. Her fingers paused only where something should have been and wasn't.
"No charges," she said. "No named suspect. No pending litigation." She turned another page. "No family pursuing civil action either."
Christian watched her face closely. There was no tension there. No hesitation.
"This never made it to trial," Alicia continued. "Not because it was blocked. Because there was nothing to base it on."
Cassian frowned. "But she was connected to—"
"Connected isn't actionable," Alicia cut in gently. "Doctors die. Accidents happen. Coincidence isn't negligence."
She closed the file.
"If there was a conspiracy here," she said, "it wouldn't look like this. There would be residue. Competing claims. Paper friction." She tapped the folder once. "This is clean in the wrong way."
Junior shifted in his seat. "So that's it?"
Alicia met his eyes. "From a legal standpoint? Yes."
Cassian felt something settle in his chest that he didn't like.
"There's no angle," Alicia continued. "No charge. No pressure point. No way to push this forward without inventing intent where there isn't any."
She slid the file back across the table.
"You did the right thing bringing it to me," she said. "But this is a dead end."
No warning.
No caveat.
Just closure.
The delivery came that afternoon.
A box big enough to require two people sat outside the gym door when Cassian arrived. No return address. No branding. Just tape and a clean shipping label with the gym's name typed neatly.
Junior peeled it open.
"Yo," he said. "This is nice."
On top were things they recognized immediately.
New wraps.
Tape.
Resistance bands.
Protein bars from the brand Junior actually liked.
Energy drinks Cassian kept in the fridge when he was cutting weight.
Christian didn't comment.
He was already lifting the layer beneath.
Folders.
Stacks of them.
Neatly bundled. Labeled in small, precise print.
Research Notes
Patient Outcomes
Adjuster Correspondence
There were ziplock bags too. Inside them—photocopies. Handwritten notes. Redacted emails. Imaging summaries stripped of names but not dates.
"This isn't random," Christian said quietly.
Cassian stepped closer. "What is it?"
Christian didn't answer immediately.
He picked up one folder and flipped it open.
"These are Dr. Chen's," he said. "Her work. Her patients. The insurance adjusters she dealt with."
Junior's grin faded. "So… someone helping us?"
Christian shook his head slowly.
"This is work," he said. "A lot of it."
Cassian looked at the box again. At the snacks. The gear. The files.
"Who sends something like this?"
No note.
No name.
No explanation.
Only volume.
Christian closed the folder.
"Someone who wants us busy," he said.
That evening, a fireplace burned low in a quiet room.
Elias dropped a thin stack of papers into the flames and watched them curl, blacken, disappear.
He didn't rush.
When the last edge turned to ash, he spoke softly, to no one in particular.
"Let's see what you find. Let's see if I missed anything"