He looked genuinely terrified.
“Why do you need in there?” he whispered.
“Give me the combination.”
A long pause. Then he murmured six digits.
Isolde signed the forms.
As the surgical suite doors swung shut, Roland turned to her, breathing hard. “Isolde, what’s actually going on here?”
She pressed the heavy folder to her chest.
Because the affair was only the surface. Millions were missing from the firm’s main accounts. Someone had been feeding confidential client data to their direct competitors.
And something worse — a medical decision made years ago, while Isolde lay unconscious in an ICU, that had altered her ability to ever become a mother.
She looked down at the six digits written on her palm.
Then the cold realization hit her.