“There’s more,” Claire’s message popped up. “The residential address in Ocala isn’t a family home. It’s registered to an entity called ‘Golden Oaks Care LLC.’ But I ran a quick business license search. It’s not a licensed medical facility or an approved nursing home.”

“What is it then?” I asked.

“It’s a private residence. A single-family home owned by a holding company.”

Before I could type a response, my phone screen went black as an incoming call cut off the secure messaging app.

The caller ID showed an unknown number.

I let it ring twice, my heart pounding in my ears.

On the third ring, I answered it.

“Rachel,” my mother’s voice came through the speaker, thin and sharp.

“Mom,” I said, keeping my voice flat and devoid of emotion.

“Why are we locked out of the maternity ward, Rachel?” she asked, her tone dripping with forced sweetness. “Your father and I are downstairs. The security desk says your room is under a protective restriction. They won’t even let us on the elevator.”

“I put those restrictions in place,” I said. “You shouldn’t be here.”