“You are here because your father owed money to our logistics subsidiary, and Jason saw an opportunity to bring a quiet, compliant girl into this house,” she said plainly.

“I am not compliant,” I said.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the thick white envelope.

I laid it flat on the green leather surface of her desk, right beside a silver inkwell.

“What is this?” she asked, her gaze dropping to the paper.

“These are Ethan’s real medical charts,” I said. “Not the ones Dr. Harrison presents to the family every week.”

Vivian did not reach for the envelope immediately; she simply stared at it as if it were a poisonous spider.

“Explain,” she commanded.

“Jason has been paying the night nurse to alter the medication logs,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Ethan is not in a natural coma.”

I pulled out the burner phone and placed it beside the envelope.

The screen lit up briefly, showing the text message I had just received.

“He is being kept sedated,” I continued. “Every time he shows signs of waking up, they increase the dosage of the paralytic.”