“She’s already sitting in my office,” Marcus said. “Bring whatever financial papers Hannah managed to keep.”

I reached for my canvas overnight bag resting on the bedside chair.

Deep inside the front pocket was a folder of real estate papers Ethan had left in our kitchen cabinet months ago.

I had kept them because several of the signature lines looked odd, almost as if they had been copied and pasted.

“I have the quarterly reports from Parker Realty,” I said, handing the thick folder to my father.

My father took the papers and tucked them under his arm.

“I’ll be back,” he said, kissing the crown of my head. “Stay here. Keep the door locked from the inside.”

He walked out of the room, his boots making a steady, rhythmic sound on the linoleum floor.

Two hours passed slowly in the quiet of the hospital wing.

The rain began to tap against the double-paned window, blurring the streetlights below.

Every time a shadow passed the frosted glass of my hospital door, my stomach knotted.

Just past midnight, the door handle turned with a soft click.