“Look at this, Mara,” I said, pointing to a page filled with chemical names and numbers.

Mara set the basin down and walked over to the desk, squinting at the paper.

“I don’t understand these terms,” I said. “But these dosage levels are spiking every Tuesday.”

Mara’s face went completely still as she stared at the signature at the bottom of the page.

“That’s your father’s accountant,” she whispered, her finger tracing the ink. “He authorized the payments.”

“But these aren’t cancer medications,” I said, my heart starting to beat faster against my ribs.

On the sofa, Roman groaned, his hand twitching against the leather as the fever began to take hold.

Before I could turn back to him, the landline on the desk began to ring, its sharp chime cutting through the silence of the room.

I picked up the receiver and held it to my ear, but I didn’t say a word.

“Lena,” my father’s voice said from the other end, cold and perfectly clear. “I know you’re in there.”

My fingers tightened around the black plastic receiver.

I did not breathe.