He did not offer his hand to me or to Claire.

“Who sent you, Vance?” I asked, stepping between him and Claire’s bed.

“The board of directors,” Vance said.

He placed his leather briefcase on the small rolling overbed table.

The metal latch clicked open in the quiet room.

“Marcus asked me to deliver these papers personally,” he added.

Claire pulled the hospital sheet tighter around her shoulders, her face pale.

“What papers?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Vance pulled out a thick document bound in blue paper.

“An agreement regarding your transition out of the Whitmore estate,” Vance said.

He slid the document toward the edge of the table.

“And your ongoing medical treatment here at St. Mary’s.”

I grabbed the document before Claire could touch it.

The paper felt heavy and cold in my hands.

I flipped to the first page.

The words *Non-Disclosure and Release Agreement* stood out in bold black ink.

“This is an NDA,” I said, my voice rising.

“It is a standard protective covenant,” Vance replied smoothly.

“It protects both parties, Mr. Whitmore.”