Elliot sent the correspondence on Sunday evening.
Forty-three documents.
Letters between his father and Dr. Reeves going back twelve years. Clinical summaries. Briefings on specific individuals — names Damian didn't recognize, designations and locations and the particular cold language of a system treating people as entries.
He read all forty-three documents at the kitchen table with the lamp on and the city quiet outside.
It took three hours.
By the end he'd made notes on seven pages of the notepad he kept for documentation.
Names. Dates. The specific language Reeves used in the briefings — careful, clinical, the vocabulary of research even when what he was describing was the identification and routing of human beings toward families who were paying for access.
Because that was what it was.
Not research.
Routing.
He sat with that word for a long time.
Then he opened a new message to Sandra.
