My hand hovered over the trackpad as I clicked the file marked *11_24_CONF.*

The video player opened, and a grainy, night-vision video began to play.

The camera showed the nursery desk, illuminated by a single lamp.

Jared was sitting at the desk, his face tense and focused.

Opposite him stood Dr. Haynes, holding a leather folder.

I held my breath as Jared reached out and grabbed a pen.

I watched his hand move across the paper on the screen.

The audio hummed with static, then cleared.

“Are you sure the notary won’t look too closely at the signature, Jared?” Dr. Haynes asked.

His voice came through my laptop speakers, thin and dry.

“The notary works for my firm,” Jared said.

He did not look up from the desk.

“She signs what I tell her to sign, when I tell her to sign it.”

Dr. Haynes tapped his fingers against the leather folder.

“If Shelby recovers enough to challenge this, we are both ruined,” the doctor said.

“She won’t recover,” Jared replied.

His voice was flat, empty of any emotion I had known for seven years.