At the nurses’ station, she saw me and went pale. Her eyes darted toward the cameras.
Then she leaned closer and whispered, “Stairwell. Five minutes.”
In the concrete stairwell, she kept glancing up and down the landings.
“They track badge swipes,” she said. “If security flags me, I’m done.”
“I saw it,” I told her. “All of it.”
Hannah’s face crumpled. “I tried to stop him. I told him twice. He said we didn’t have time.”
She explained that Mark had called a meeting afterward. The footage had been deleted. She copied it because she couldn’t live with the thought of it disappearing.
“I thought Daniel would tell you,” she said. “Then you came to pick up the clothes and looked like you had no idea.”
“Will you testify?” I asked.
Hannah nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “Yes. Even if they take my license. I can’t stay silent anymore.”
Then she added quietly, “Be careful. Mark kept saying, ‘The father is on board.’ Like you didn’t matter.”
When I got home, I opened our banking app.
A deposit had appeared four days after Grace died. The sender’s name read “Northbridge Claims.”
Then there was a large mortgage payment.
Then a transfer to an account labeled “Daniel – Portfolio.”
Just his name. Not mine.
That night, I walked into Daniel’s office and closed the door behind me. My phone was already recording in my pocket.
“Tell me the truth,” I said. “Did the hospital pay you to keep quiet?”
