After three years in prison, I returned home expecting nothing more than to embrace my father. Instead, my stepmother answered the door and coldly said, “He d.ied a year ago. This house is mine now.”

The drive to the Adirondacks was a blur of dark highways, pouring rain, and tense silence. Maya drove while I used a pen to carefully write my name into the blank "Visitor Name" slot on the forged authorization form, mimicking Dr. Sterling’s assistant's handwriting from the other documents.

By 2:00 AM, the towering pine trees of the upstate mountains closed in around us.

St. Jude’s Clinic sat on a isolated hill, surrounded by a high concrete wall topped with black iron spikes. A massive iron gate blocked the winding driveway, guarded by a small brick security kiosk.

"Park down the road in the shadow of those trees," I told Maya. "If I'm not back in an hour, take the ledger and go straight to the federal building in Albany. Don't look back."

"I'm not leaving without you, Finnley," she said, her voice trembling but fierce.

I squeezed her hand. "I'll be back. With him."

I stepped out of the car, pulling my jacket tight. I walked up the winding driveway, keeping close to the treeline until I reached the security gate.

A guard in a dark uniform stepped out of the kiosk, his hand resting on his holstered sidearm. "Can I help you? Visiting hours ended at six."

I held up the blank authorization form and the black keycard. "I'm here on behalf of Julian Vance. Emergency transfer authorization for Arthur Pendelton. There’s been a security breach in the city, and Mr. Vance wants the patient moved to a secure holding room immediately."

The guard took the paperwork, shining a flashlight on it. He looked at the signature, then swiped the keycard through his reader. The light on the reader turned green.

He looked me up and down, suspicious but intimidated by the mention of Vance's name. "We weren't notified of a transfer tonight."

"Do you want to be the one to call Mr. Vance at two in the morning and explain why his security protocol was delayed?" I asked, keeping my voice cold, arrogant, and entirely unfazed.

The guard swallowed hard. He handed the paperwork back. "Go on through. Dr. Sterling is in his office on the third floor. He'll have to sign off on the physical release."

The heavy iron gates slowly swung open.

I walked up the long, paved path toward the main building—a gothic stone mansion that looked more like a prison than a clinic. The air was freezing, my breath blooming in white clouds before me.

I pushed open the heavy wooden front doors, entering a sterile, white lobby that smelled of bleach and antiseptic. A nurse at the front desk looked up, startled by my sudden entrance.

"Arthur Pendelton's room," I demanded, showing the keycard. "Now."

"Sir, you can't just—"

"I am here on Julian Vance's authority," I interrupted, leaning over the desk, using every ounce of intensity I had. "Where is he?"