The Thorne family would have their corporate lawyers at the hospital by morning.

I couldn’t wait for the police department’s slow bureaucracy to decrypt this drive.

I needed someone who could work fast, off the grid, and without asking questions.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled down to a name I hadn’t called in three years.

Nora Chen.

My thumb hovered over the call button.

Just then, the phone buzzed hard in my hand, the screen lighting up with an unknown number.

I slid my thumb across the screen and put the phone to my ear.

“Madeline,” a voice said.

It was not Julian.

It was Eleanor Thorne, her voice as dry and thin as paper.

“I understand Clara had an accident,” Eleanor said.

“She didn’t have an accident, Eleanor,” I said, my voice shaking slightly.

“We are sending a car to bring her home,” she continued, ignoring me. “It is best we handle these family matters privately.”

“Stay away from my daughter,” I said, and ended the call.

My hands were cold.

I deleted the call log, though I knew it would not stop them.