“I don’t have forty-eight hours,” I said. “They are draining my housing allowance. That money pays our mortgage while Ethan is deployed.”

“I’m pulling the digital signature file now,” Claire said. “I’ll email it to your personal account. See if you recognize the formatting.”

“Thank you, Claire. Please, keep monitoring the line.”

I hung up the phone and pressed the red button on the wall to call the nurse.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

The door to my recovery room swung open.

Lena, the floor nurse, walked in carrying a fresh tray of bandages.

She looked at my face and immediately set the tray down on the bedside table.

“Rachel, what’s wrong? Your monitor is spiking.”

She pointed to the screen above my bed, where the heart rate line leaped in jagged red peaks.

“I need you to lock down this room,” I said. “My family. They are trying to access my accounts, and they know I’m here.”

Lena frowned, her hand moving to her badge. “Do we need to call hospital security?”