I looked up at him, a sudden realization hitting me.

“The shift logs,” I said.

“We keep physical sign-in sheets for all external contractors in the basement office.”

“And the pharmacy access records are stored on the local server in the administrative wing.”

“If I can get into the system, I can download the access times.”

“But I don’t have administrative clearance anymore.”

“I do,” a quiet voice said from behind us.

We both turned.

Sister Bernadette was standing near the elevators, holding a tray of clean linens.

Her kind, lined face was solemn, but her eyes were bright with determination.

“I’ve been working here for thirty years, Victoria,” she said, walking toward us.

“I know where the keys to the archive room are kept.”

“And I know that James Hendricks has never cared about the children in this hospital.”

“Only his own name on the wall.”

“Sister,” I said, a wave of relief washing over me.

“We have to hurry,” she said, setting the tray down on a nearby chair.

“Dr. Sterling’s car just pulled into the executive parking lot.”