Vaelor found his father's letter on a Wednesday evening, three weeks after the administrative classification and six days into the formal challenge to it.
He had not been looking for it.
He had been in the private archive on the second floor pulling secondary documentation for the rights framework the positive construction piece, the work of building something new rather than just dismantling what was corrupt. His father's papers had been in this archive for eleven years. Nobody had touched them because there was nothing urgent in them and urgency was what determined attention in this building.
He had been moving through boxes quickly, pulling dates and case references, when he found the envelope in a box labeled Correspondence – General.
Just his name on the outside. Not a formal address. Vaelor, in his father's handwriting.
He looked at it for a long moment before he opened it.
