Her face was pale under the harsh fluorescent lights.

“They are moving the babies,” she said.

“Who?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“Grant and Vanessa,” Margaret replied, looking up from her screen. “They bypassed the chief of pediatrics.”

“The babies cannot survive outside their incubators,” I said, panic tightening my throat. “They were born at twenty-nine weeks.”

“Vanessa had a private medical transport company waiting in the basement garage,” Margaret said.

She tapped her screen, pulling up a document from the hospital’s internal system.

“Grant signed discharge papers forty minutes ago,” she said. “While you were still unconscious in recovery.”

“How?” I asked. “The doctors told me they had to stay here for at least two months.”

“He used Dr. Aris’s digital credentials,” Margaret said, her voice tight with anger. “The signature on the release forms is a forgery.”

She showed me the screen.

The signature of our primary obstetrician was printed in neat, computerized pixels, but Dr. Aris was currently performing an emergency cesarean on the fourth floor.

“Where are they taking them?” I demanded.