It was supposed to be completely anonymous, sealed by three different nondisclosure agreements.

“How did he get it?” I asked.

“The clinic went bankrupt five years ago,” Daniel said.

“Their physical archives were sold to a medical storage firm in Eugene.”

“Sterling’s private investigators must have bribed someone or bought the digital backups during the liquidation.”

A nurse walked past the open door of my room, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the linoleum.

We both remained silent until the sound of her footsteps faded down the corridor.

“He threatened to give it to the *Inquirer*,” Daniel said.

“The whole story.”

“The wealthy Whitmore family, the tragic death of Sarah, and the quiet housekeeper who was actually the biological mother of the twins all along.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“Lucas and Owen,” I whispered.

“They can’t find out this way.”

“They are only five years old, Daniel.”

“They wouldn’t understand.”

“I know,” Daniel said.

He reached out and took my hand, his fingers warm and dry against my cold skin.

“Sterling doesn’t care about two five-year-old boys.”

“He cares about the stock price and the board seats.”