I walked straight to her side and took her hand.

Her fingers were cold, but she squeezed my hand with surprising strength.

“I’m here, baby,” I said, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “You’re safe now.”

She glanced nervously toward the door, which I had shut behind me.

With her free hand, she reached beneath her pillow.

She pulled out a small, silver flash drive and pressed it into my palm.

“Take it,” Emily whispered, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Before they find it.”

“What is this?” I asked, slipping the metal drive into the hidden pocket of my uniform jacket.

“It’s everything,” she said. “The offshore accounts, the real medical reports. What he did to me.”

The door handle clicked and began to turn.

I quickly patted my pocket down, ensuring the drive was completely hidden.

Dr. Alan Reeves walked in, closing the door firmly behind him.

He was the hospital administrator, but he did not look like a man in control of his facility.

His tie was loosened, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

“Colonel Hart,” Dr. Reeves said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I need to speak with you immediately.”

“Is my daughter being discharged?” I asked.

“No, and she shouldn’t be,” Reeves said, looking over his shoulder at the frosted glass window. “The Prescotts are trying to transfer her to a private clinic they own.”

“They won’t touch her,” I said.

Reeves stepped closer to the bed, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled a folder from under his arm.

“You don’t understand the depth of what you are dealing with,” the doctor said.

He opened the folder, revealing a set of older autopsy photographs and medical charts.

“This is about Clara,” Reeves said.

“Ethan’s first wife?” I asked, my grip tightening on the bed rail.

Reeves nodded, his face turning pale under the fluorescent lights.