Part 3:

The scream came from Trauma Two.

I was already running before the emergency lights flickered on, bathing the corridor in pulsing red. Nurses shouted. Someone collided with me. Alan was right behind me.

When I tore through the curtain, Emily’s bed was empty.

For one frozen second, I thought they had taken her.

Then I saw the blood trail leading into the bathroom.

I rushed inside and found her crouched on the tile floor, one hand clamped over her shoulder, IV ripped out, blood running down her arm. She had dragged herself off the bed.

“Dad,” she gasped. “They shut the lights off because they’re here.”

I dropped beside her. “Who?”

“Not Daniel,” she said.

That stopped me cold.

Alan locked the bathroom door. “Talk.”

Emily swallowed, trembling. “Daniel found out six months ago that the company he worked for—VasCor Biotech—was using hospital data to identify vulnerable patients for unauthorized drug trials. They had contacts everywhere—billing departments, private clinics, rehab centers. Daniel tried to back out once he realized how deep it went.”

I stared at her. “Then why didn’t he go to the police?”

“He did,” came a voice from the doorway.

Detective Ortiz stepped in, gun drawn, steady despite the chaos outside. “Quietly. Through federal channels. That’s why Denver mattered.”

Emily looked at me. “Denver was where he met their compliance officer. He thought he was exposing fraud. Instead, he discovered the company’s chief legal adviser had protected the operation for years.”

“Who?” I asked.

Emily’s eyes filled with tears.

She wasn’t looking at Ortiz.

She was looking at Alan.

My head turned slowly.

Alan Mercer stood motionless beside the sink. His face was blank—no concern, no confusion, no denial.

Only calculation.

My voice broke. “Alan?”