“She has been digging into my father’s biotech firm for six months,” he said.

“The research company?” I asked.

“They have been testing unregistered gene therapies on patients in eastern Europe,” Ethan said. “And they used my mother’s charity clinics to cover the medical records.”

I stared at him, the horror of his words sinking in. “Your family… they did that?”

“Yes,” Ethan said. “And Sarah has the clinical trial data. But she needs proof of how they operate here.”

He looked back down at his phone, the screen illuminating his face.

“I have been compiling a dossier,” he said. “Every email my mother sent me, every financial transfer they made to clear your medical debts to keep you quiet.”

“You kept all of that?” I asked.

“I had to,” Ethan said. “I knew they would come for you eventually. I just didn’t think they would do it here, in the open.”

Outside, a loud bang rattled the office door.

One of the security men had kicked the outer glass of the NICU.

The glass spiderwebbed but did not shatter.