Page 32

The IV line pulls when I stand, so I take the pole in one hand and the folder in the other. The office is only a short walk away, but I stop once against the wall when my vision narrows. By the time I reach the desk, sweat has gathered on my brow.

My desk faces the entrance, with the windows to my left and a dark leather couch along the opposite wall. Locked cabinets hold the files no one else is allowed to touch, and a second door beside the bookcase leads to the security stair.

I sit before my legs make the decision for me and push the encrypted phone aside. Then I open the hospital audit on the secure terminal.

An old New Harbor contractor account was still active inside the hospital system. Someone used it to open Vera’s personnel file and copy the details later used in the false claim.

The same account entered the emergency system six hours before I was shot. It checked staff schedules, secure entrances, and the rules for bringing in high-risk patients.

Minutes after my ambulance was sent, the account opened my arrival notice, the names of the waiting doctors, and the entrance they had been told to use.

A scraping sound comes from the far side of the desk.

I look up.

Misha stands inside my office in clean dinosaur pajamas, his bare feet on the rug and toy cars held against his chest. A young woman in sensible shoes waits beside him, and her badge reads Oksana. Mrs. Wentworth assigned her to watch Misha. Sergei stands near the door.

“He woke up asking for his mother,” Oksana says. “We were taking him to her room when he saw the light under your door.”

“Are you working?” he asks.

“Bring Vera here.”

Sergei nods and leaves the door open behind him.

Misha studies the office before coming closer. His attention moves over the locked cabinets and chessboard, then settles on the door beside the bookcase that leads to the security stair.

One car goes in front of the office entrance. He points another toward the inner stair, then carries the yellow one to the window. After a brief frown, he picks it up again and hides it behind my desk.

“Why did you move that one?”

“Bad men can see it there.”

I glance at the three cars. “Who taught you that?”

He shrugs. “Mama says stay where windows can’t see me.”

“And the doors?”

Misha points toward the entrance. “People come there.” His finger shifts to the second car. “Men go down there.”

Footsteps hurry along the corridor, and Vera appears in the doorway. She crosses the office, crouches in front of Misha, and checks his face between both hands.

“He should be asleep, not standing in your office.” Vera lifts Misha into her arms.

“He put one car beside every entrance.”

“He puts cars everywhere.”

“Not like this.” I point to the yellow one behind my desk. “He put one car at each door and moved the yellow one where no one outside could see it.”

Vera goes still.

I look at Misha again. Dark hair, watchful eyes, and the same need to know every way in and out.

“How old is he?”

Her arms tighten around him. She waits long enough before answering, “Three.”