The officers stepped forward.

One of them reached for his handcuffs.

“Please put your hands behind your back, ma’am,” the officer said.

Marla looked at the handcuffs, then at me.

Her face distorted with a mixture of anger and panic.

“You don’t understand,” she hissed at me as the officer grabbed her wrists. “You don’t know who these people are.”

“I know exactly who they are,” I said.

The metal cuffs clicked shut around her wrists with a sharp, heavy sound.

They led her past me, her heels clicking rapidly on the carpet as she tried to pull away from the officers.

Pendelton looked at me, his expression grim.

“Mrs. Grant,” he said. “The hospital will issue a formal apology, and we will ensure your son receives the highest level of care without charge.”

“I don’t want your apology,” I said. “I want my son to get better.”

“He will,” Pendelton said. “I’ll ensure Dr. Sullivan has every resource he needs.”

I picked up my phone from the desk and looked at Miller.

“Here is your evidence,” I said, handing him the device.