She kept her eyes locked on mine, listening intently.

“Inside the box, there is a blue paper folder,” I said.

“What’s in the folder?” Rachel asked.

“The original trust documents,” I said. “The ones my father signed before his stroke.”

I took a slow, shallow breath, trying to ignore the pulling sensation in the tight skin of my neck.

“Ethan had me sign a revised version last month, but it was never notarized,” I whispered. “The original documents prove he has no legal claim to any of the estate assets.”

“You want me to get them now?” Rachel asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Before his defense lawyers realize what happened and try to tie up the accounts.”

“I’ll go as soon as my shift ends in fifteen minutes,” she said.

She patted my arm gently, avoiding the sterile white bandages.

“I’ll keep them safe at my house,” Rachel added.

I closed my eyes, feeling a momentary wave of relief wash over me.

But the quiet did not last.

A sudden, sharp knock sounded on the wooden door of my room.

The door pushed open before Rachel could step back.