“You’re lying,” Damon said, taking a step forward, his gun leveled directly at Marcus’s chest. “My security protocols would have flagged any communication between Elaine and Apex.”

“Not if the communication went through Saint Jude’s internal server,” Marcus said. “The one place your algorithms never scanned.”

Marcus held up the tablet, showing a log of automated data transfers dating back to the month I fled Chicago.

My eyes scanned the lines of text, recognizing the file names of my own medical records.

Every scan, every blood test, every detail of my pregnancy had been systematically copied.

“She sold my son’s medical history before he was even born,” I said, the realization washing over me like ice water.

“She did,” Marcus said. “And now she’s sold the final decryption keys to Apex.”

“Where is she?” Damon asked, his eyes narrowing.

“She’s currently in a private suite at the Drake Hotel, waiting for her final payment,” Marcus said.

“You’re not going to let her collect it,” Damon said.

“I don’t care about her payment,” Marcus said. “I only care about the master file on this terminal.”