The entries were written in Claire’s elegant, sloping cursive, but the handwriting grew progressively shakier.

Nathan flipped his notebook open, his eyes scanning the pages as the red light flickered.

My eyes caught a passage written just three months before Claire’s death.

*My hands are shaking so badly today, and the doctors say it is just the natural progression,* Claire had written.

*But the timeline doesn’t make sense.*

*I felt perfectly fine until Vanessa started managing my daily supplements.*

I looked up at Nathan, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Nathan, look at this,” I said, pointing to the page.

Nathan read the lines, his face turning pale even under the deep red glow of the emergency lights.

“She was tracking her dosage,” Nathan whispered, his voice cracking.

“Claire was a biochemist. She knew what those compounds were supposed to do.”

He turned the page quickly, his thumb catching on the paper.

*Vanessa was hired through an agency, but I found her real background,* the diary continued.

*She isn’t an independent nurse.*

*Her payroll goes back to a shell corporation owned by Apex Tech Group.*