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“That smile.”

“What smile?”

“The one you get when you forget to analyze everything.” She tucked her arm through mine as we turned onto the next block. “It looks good on you.”

I felt my cheeks warm. “Thank you for today, Charlotte.”

The car was waiting for us at the corner. We settled in as it carried us back uptown with the windows down. Neither of us was in a hurry to end the day, so we got out at the gates and walked the long way through the grounds instead. It was only when we reached the west lawn that I remembered.

“The notebook,” I said.

Charlotte stopped walking and sighed with theatrical resignation.

“I left a notebook in my office. I wanted to look at some notes over the weekend.”

“On a Saturday. After brunch. And Donizetti?”

“It will take ten minutes.”

“Scientists are genuinely incapable of taking an entire Saturday for themselves. It must be molecular. Did they alter your genes in grad school?”

“Need I remind you, Dr. Hayes, that you also went to grad school.”

She laughed. “You’re right. I’m probably going to get back to my suite and start working out the details of act three.”

We hugged. “Go and get your notebook. Contain yourself to one notebook. I will be back in my suite promising myself one chapter. Just one chapter.”

I turned toward the Research Pavilion. The afternoon wasn’t over yet, though the sun had begun to drop behind the buildings. The grounds were peaceful, and I was still thinking about brunch, Donizetti, and the man in the top hat carrying flowers. I was only going inside for a notebook.

The feeling lasted until I stepped inside the building. The entrance was staffed, the lights were on, and the door to the Security office was open. I couldn’t recall whether that was usual on the weekends. Beyond the open Security office, the lobby was nearly silent. My footsteps sounded unusually loud against the polished floor. I walked to the elevator, held my badge to the reader, and waited until the doors opened.

In the lab, most of the equipment was running. Trials and cell cultures did not observe weekends or holidays. Through the glass at the far end of the corridor, I recognized one of the technicians from Julian’s lab using one of the microscopes we shared. I unlocked my office with my badge. The lights came on automatically, and everything looked exactly as I had left it yesterday. I crossed to the desk and looked for the notebook on the bookshelf behind my chair.

It was exactly where I expected it to be. Third shelf, left side, red cover. I reached for it and stopped.

The folder beside it did not belong there.

It contained the handwritten notes from my meeting with Julian. The notes were confidential. I would never have left them sitting there in plain view. For a few seconds, I only stared at it. I knew where I had left that folder.

I opened it and checked the contents. Nothing seemed altered. Nothing was missing.

That didn’t make me feel better.

A folder does not move on its own. Nothing had to be missing for someone to have read or photographed every page. My stomach tightened.

A knock sounded behind me. I turned around.

“Dr. Rossi, I’m sorry to disturb your weekend.”

“Marcus, I’m glad you’re here. I was about to call you.”

His attention shifted to the open folder in my hands. “Has anyone entered your office today, to your knowledge?”

I looked at him. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“Security flagged an access anomaly this morning. I came to find out what caused it.”

“This folder. It contains the notes I took when speaking with Dr. Mercer. It has been moved.”