I walked down the grand staircase to the main lobby, avoiding the exam wing where Courtney was.

The floor downstairs was polished white terrazzo that reflected the warm recessed lighting.

I approached the reception desk for the private medical records department.

A young woman with a neat bun and a silver name tag that read *Elena* looked up from her computer.

“Good afternoon,” Elena said, offering a polite, professional smile. “How can I help you?”

“I am Shelby Harlan,” I said, sliding my driver’s license across the dark wood desk.

She looked at the card, then up at my face.

“My husband, Jared Harlan, has a corporate account with the hospital,” I said. “We need a certified physical copy of the prenatal screening results for Courtney Briggs.”

Elena tapped her keyboard, her manicured nails making a sharp clacking sound in the quiet room.

“The Briggs account is flagged for high privacy,” Elena said, looking up with a slight frown.

“Yes, because of my husband’s media profile,” I said. “He is currently upstairs with Miss Briggs, and our family trust administrators require the certified physical copy immediately for our estate planning.”