Sloane had done this.

She had access to my medical portal during her visits to our house, or Nathan had copied my records.

They had twisted my natural anxiety about my high-risk pregnancy into a clinical diagnosis of psychosis.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I read the fabricated descriptions of my behavior.

They claimed I had threatened to hurt myself.

They claimed I was refusing necessary medical care for the baby.

If this hit the press, the trust’s reputation would be damaged, and Nathan would have the leverage he wanted to challenge the protective custody clauses.

I dialed Margaret’s direct line immediately.

She answered on the second ring.

“Catherine, what is it?” she asked.

“They leaked fake medical records to the City Chronicle,” I said, my voice cracking. “They’re trying to prove I’m mentally unstable.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end.

“Have you seen the documents?” Margaret asked.

“I’m looking at them right now on my laptop,” I said, sitting down at the dining table. “They forged Dr. Aris’s signature.”