Chapter 4 - THE CABINET DOOR
Mark felt a cold, icy dread pool in the pit of his stomach.
He didn't look at the woman.
He walked past her, his heavy leather shoes making slow, deliberate thuds against the oak floor.
He reached the massive antique wooden cabinet.
The brass key sat turned in the keyhole, left unlocked in the woman's earlier rush.
"Mark, don't!" the woman shrieked behind him.
She scrambled forward, her high heels sliding across the smooth floor as she tried to grab his shoulder.
Mark didn't even turn his head.
He swung his right elbow backward with ruthless precision.
The strike caught her full in the shoulder, sending her stumbling back into the beige classic sofa in the adjacent room.
With his free hand, Mark pulled the heavy cabinet door open.
The smell of old paper and cedar swept out into the hallway.
There, resting on the bottom shelf beneath a stack of table linens, was a thick manila folder tied with red string.
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On the front, in bold black ink, was his late wife’s signature.
The date stamped on the seal was from three weeks ago—two weeks after her reported death.
