The line went dead.

I lowered the phone, my hand trembling slightly against the steering wheel.

“Marcus,” I said, looking over at my investigator in the passenger seat.

“I heard,” Marcus said, his eyes fixed on his tablet.

“How did Celeste get there before us?” I asked.

“She has a private helicopter on standby through her father’s firm,” he said.

“She’s desperate,” I said.

“She has reason to be,” Marcus said, tapping the screen.

He turned the tablet toward me.

“I just bypassed the firewall on Mercer’s old clinic server,” Marcus said.

The blue light reflected in his glasses.

“Look at the timestamps on these emails,” he said.

I glanced down at the screen while keeping one eye on the dark, wet road.

The dates were from nine years ago.

That was a year before Celeste and I married.

“These are sent from a private domain,” I noted.

“It belongs to Celeste’s personal account,” Marcus said.

“She was emailing Dr. Mercer,” I said.

“Not just emailing him,” Marcus said. “She was paying him.”

“Why?”

“To get a copy of your actual medical file,” he said.