“I’ll call you the second it’s done,” she said.

She squeezed my uninjured hand.

“Hang in there, Natalie,” she whispered.

She left the room, her footsteps fading down the corridor.

I lay alone in the sterile room.

The only sound was the steady drip of the IV and the hum of the air conditioner.

My skin burned under the thick layers of ointment and gauze.

I reached for my phone on the bedside table with my left hand.

My fingers were shaky and stiff from the swelling.

I dialed a number I had memorized during my years in practice.

It was the direct line to the compliance department at First Metropolitan Bank.

“Compliance, this is Marcus,” a voice answered.

“Marcus, it’s Natalie Brooks,” I said, keeping my voice low.

“Natalie,” he said, his tone changing instantly. “I saw the news.”

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m in the burn unit,” I said. “But I need to report a fraudulent attempt on my family trust.”

“The Ethan Brooks account?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “The trust is under my sole maiden name, but he has secondary access.”