Miller lowered his badge, his expression hardening.

“Is that file authenticated?” he asked.

“It has routing numbers, dates, and the offshore accounts Vance used,” I said. “It’s all right here.”

I pressed a button on the side of the phone, darkening the screen.

“But you aren’t getting it until Marla Hensley is out of this hospital in handcuffs,” I said.

Miller looked at the phone, then out the window toward the flashing blue lights reflecting on the wet pavement below.

“That’s obstruction, Lauren,” he said.

“No,” I said. “It’s a trade.”

I pointed toward the hallway.

“She is down in the administrative offices on the second floor right now,” I said. “She’s trying to cover her tracks.”

Miller reached into his coat and pulled out a small black radio.

“This is Miller,” he said into the receiver. “I need a local unit to meet me on the second floor, administrative wing.”

He listened to the crackle of static for a second before looking back at me.

“And call the chief of medicine,” Miller added into the radio. “We have a security issue.”