The Price of Blood and the Cost of Standing Alone Against Family
I sat down on the edge of my sofa, my mind racing through the technical details.
The camera in Patricia’s kitchen was a standard high-definition smart-home model.
I remembered helping her select it two years ago because she wanted something that would back up automatically.
Those systems did not just store data on the phone; they saved everything to a cloud server.
Even if a file was deleted from the user interface, the raw data often remained cached in the system’s storage.
I didn’t have the technical skills to retrieve a deleted cloud file from a secured network.
But I knew people who did.
During the billing fraud investigation at the hospital last year, the board had brought in a specialized firm.
They had recovered encrypted emails that had been deleted three times over.
I needed someone who could do the same for Patricia’s camera feed.
I picked up my phone again and scrolled through my contacts until I found Mara Singh’s name.
Mara was still at the hospital, likely finishing her shift in the trauma unit.
I dialed her number.