It held the raw, unedited timestamps of the gene-sequencing files.

It had the original patient cell-line records before Hunter ever touched them.

I slipped the drive into the deep inner pocket of my coat and zipped it shut.

I needed a secure network, and I needed someone who could not be bought by Arthur Hayes.

I pulled out my burner phone and dialed a number I had memorized during my second year of residency.

It rang four times before a tired, gravelly voice answered.

“Yes?”

“Dr. Sterling, it is Evelyn,” I said.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

“Evelyn, you should not be calling me,” Sterling said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The board is looking at everything.”

“They are looking at a lie,” I said. “I have the physical drive.”

“The university servers show your login credentials modified the files, Evelyn.”

“Hunter had my password,” I said. “He has had it for months.”

“That is a serious accusation to make against your husband,” Sterling said.

“He is not my husband anymore,” I said. “He is a thief.”