Julian picked up the transparent mylar envelope from the velvet lining of Drawer Zero.
The plastic was thick and stiff, cool against his calloused fingertips. Across the reinforced header, blue municipal ink spelled out the legal shield. The letters were stamped in crisp gothic type:
FORM EX-00: MUNICIPAL PROBATE EVIDENCE SLEEVE
CURRENCY SEALED HEREIN IS DEMONSTRATIVE FORENSIC EVIDENCE ONLY AND CONSTITUTES ZERO MONETARY TENDER
“Look at that header text, Victor,” Julian said, his eyes tracing the blue ink.
“That’s nineteen ninety-six true blue ink,” Dr. Corvo replied, stepping up to the drawer. “Acid-free, waterproof, and certified by the Chief Clerk of Probate.”
“Hold the mouth open from the outside margins,” Corvo added, his tone sharpening. “Do not let your bare skin touch the inner envelope or the note itself. If your fingers make direct physical contact with the paper fibers before the seal is drawn, the covenant could interpret it as retail acceptance.”
“Understood,” Julian said. “I’m only gripping the outer seam.”
