“A young man came once,” she said. “Two weeks ago. He had a leather briefcase.”

“He said he was a notary. I told him to leave.”

I watched the driver’s side door of the black sedan open.

A man in a dark grey trench coat got out, holding a large black umbrella over his head.

He began walking toward the clinic’s front entrance with quick, measured strides.

My heart gave a hard thump against my ribs.

I stepped back from the glass, pulling the curtain shut.

“Claire,” I called out, raising my voice.

There was no response from the hallway.

I walked to the door and peered out into the corridor.

The hallway was completely empty.

Mrs. Gable’s reception desk was vacant, the computer monitor glowing with a blue screensaver.

“Claire?” I called again, softer this time.

The only sound was the distant hum of the building’s ventilation system.

I turned back into the room and grabbed my coat from the chair.

“We need to leave right now,” I told Margaret.

“What is happening?” she asked, her eyes widening with sudden fear.