Charles shook his hand briefly, his grip firm.

“The storm made the drive difficult, but my business couldn’t wait,” Charles said.

Dr. Kenneth’s gaze shifted to me, his eyes narrowing slightly behind his glasses as he took in my simple winter coat.

“And who is your associate?” he asked, his tone turning cautious.

“This is Emily,” Charles said simply, not offering a last name.

“She is the primary reason I am here tonight.”

Dr. Kenneth gestured to two leather chairs in front of his desk.

“Please, sit,” he said, taking his seat again and folding his hands.

“How can I help the Whitmore Foundation tonight?”

Charles sat down, crossing one leg over the other, appearing perfectly at ease.

I remained standing, my hands stuffed deep into my pockets to hide how badly they were shaking.

“We are not here to discuss a donation, Dr. Kenneth,” Charles said.

The administrator’s polite smile faded, replaced by a guarded, tense expression.

“I see,” Kenneth said, leaning back in his chair.

“Then what is this about?”

“We are looking for a patient,” Charles said.