I didn’t wake Daniel and scream until the neighbors called the police.
I did something quieter.
I made backups.
I emailed the file to myself. I saved it to the cloud. I copied it to a second drive and hid it where he wouldn’t look.
“I tried to stop him.”
The next morning, I drove to the hospital and asked for Hannah.
At the nurses’ station, she saw me and went pale. Her eyes flicked to the cameras.
Then she leaned in and whispered, “Stairwell. Five minutes.”
In the concrete stairwell, she kept checking the landings.
“They track badge swipes,” she said. “If security flags me, I’m done.”
“I saw it,” I said. “All of it.”
“Will you testify?”
Hannah’s face crumpled. “I tried to stop him. I told him twice. He said we didn’t have time.”
She told me Mark had called a meeting afterwards. She told me the footage was deleted. She told me she copied it because she couldn’t stand the thought of it disappearing.
“I thought Daniel would tell you,” she said. “Then you came for the clothes and looked like you had no idea.”
“Will you testify?” I asked.
Hannah nodded, eyes wet. “Yes. Even if they take my license. I can’t keep quiet anymore.”
A deposit hit four days after Grace died.
Then she added, softer, “Be careful. Mark kept saying, ‘The father is on board.’ Like you didn’t matter.”
At home, I opened our banking app.
A deposit hit four days after Grace died.
Then a huge 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 shut the door. My phone was already recording in my pocket.
For a second, he looked like he might break.
“Tell me the truth,” I said. “Did the hospital pay you to keep quiet?”
Daniel’s eyes went to the door, then back to me. “Where is this coming from?”
