He tapped the screen, his thumb shaking slightly as he opened the attachment.

I watched him scroll down, his face growing paler with every passing second.

“Is it him?” I asked, holding my breath.

Ethan didn’t answer.

He just stared at the screen, his breathing becoming shallow.

Outside, the Chicago wind howled against the side of the hospital building, rattling the thick glass.

A nurse walked past us, carrying a tray of clean syringes, her rubber soles clicking rhythmically on the floor.

Ethan slowly turned the phone around so I could see the screen.

My eyes scanned the grainy PDF of the court document from five years ago.

At the bottom of the rejection form, next to the official seal of the Caldwell Corporate Trust, was a thick, dark signature.

I couldn’t read the cursive name clearly, but Ethan’s face told me everything I needed to know.

“He signed it,” Ethan whispered.

“He knew about Lauren the entire time.”

Before I could ask him what he was going to do, his phone began to ring again.