“They’ll do anything to keep that data from being traced back to the logistics firm,” Aaron said.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“I have to get off the grid,” he said. “If they catch me, I’ll never make it to a trial.”

“No, Aaron, don’t run,” I said. “That makes you look guilty.”

“If I stay, I’m dead, Grace,” he said. “You don’t understand how deep this goes.”

“I have the case files,” I said. “I have the cargo manifests.”

“It’s not enough,” he said. “They’ll find a way to discredit them. They’ll say I forged them.”

A sudden sound of static cut through the line.

“Aaron?” I called out.

“Someone’s watching the booth,” he whispered. “I have to go.”

“Aaron, wait—”

The line went dead with a sharp click.

I stared at the black screen of my phone.

The air in the hospital hallway felt thick, suffocating.

I needed to get back to my office.

If Vance and the defense firm were already leaking fabricated evidence, I had hours, not days, to find the original manifests.

I turned and walked quickly toward the exit.