"There," Sarah pointed at the screen. "He logged a blood test for you at 2:45 PM. The results show high levels of amphetamines and a severe potassium deficiency. He used this to justify the claim that you were erratic and a danger to your daughter."
"I haven't taken anything!" Maya said, outraged. "I don't even drink coffee!"
"I know," Sarah said. "Because I'm the one who drew your blood when you arrived. I labeled your vials myself. But look at the barcode on these results."
Sarah opened a secondary window, comparing two long strings of numbers.
"He swapped the barcode in the system," Sarah said, her voice triumphant. "He tied your name to a blood sample from a Jane Doe admitted to the ER last night. But he forgot to scrub the original accession number from the raw data logs. It's right here in the metadata. Clear as day."
Maya stared at the screen. It was the smoking gun. It proved Dr. Evans had fabricated the medical evidence.
"Print it," Maya ordered.
Sarah hit a few keys, and a small laser printer under the desk whirred to life, spitting out three pages of dense medical logs.
Just as Maya grabbed the warm papers, the radio on Sarah’s hip crackled.
“All staff, this is Dr. Evans. The patient is not on the fourth floor. Security, begin sweeping the maintenance corridors and the records rooms. She’s trying to hide.”
Sarah’s face went pale. "They're coming here."
Maya folded the papers and shoved them into the pocket of her hospital gown. "Is there another way out?"
"There's a service elevator at the end of this maintenance hall," Sarah said, moving toward the door. "It goes straight down to the loading dock. You can slip out past the dumpsters."
"Come with us," Maya said.
"No, I have to stay. If I run, they'll know I helped you. I'll slow them down. Just go." Sarah unlocked the heavy door and peeked out into the dim maintenance corridor. It was clear.
Maya grabbed Chloe’s hand. "Thank you, Sarah. I won't forget this."
"Just get your little girl out of here," Sarah whispered.
Maya and Chloe slipped out the door, moving swiftly down the narrow, concrete-lined hallway. The air here was colder, smelling of industrial cleaner. They could hear the distant voices of security guards echoing from the main stairwell, growing louder.
They reached the end of the hall. The service elevator doors were battered metal. Maya slammed her palm against the call button.
Above the door, a red digital number lit up.
1.
It was coming up from the ground floor.
2... 3...
Maya held her breath, gripping the papers in her pocket. Once they were in the elevator, they were home free. She could find a phone, call her lawyer, and burn Eleanor's life to the ground.
4.