“They are petitioning to suspend your medical license and your position as Chief of Medicine,” Mara said, reading over my shoulder.

“They’re claiming I have severe psychiatric instability,” I said.

“They’re using my medical history against me,” I added. “My therapy sessions from after my father died.”

“They can’t do that,” Mara said, her voice rising. “Those records are private.”

“Not if they convince a judge that my mental state poses an immediate danger to patients,” I said.

The paper shook slightly in my hand.

I folded it back up and shoved it into the pocket of my white coat.

“They want to force me to drop the criminal complaint,” I said. “This is their leverage.”

Before Mara could reply, my cell phone buzzed in my pocket.

The screen showed an unknown number with a local exchange.

I pressed the phone to my ear. “Elizabeth Morgan.”

“Dr. Morgan, this is Assistant District Attorney Vance,” a woman’s voice said.

“Yes, counselor,” I said, leaning against the cold brick pillar of the lobby.

“I am calling to update you on the state’s case against Patricia Morgan,” Vance said.