The name on the screen refuses to look real.
Dr. Elena Monteverde.
I stare at it, waiting for my mind to reject the information. But it doesn’t. Because the name is familiar. Too familiar.
“That’s impossible,” I whisper.
Adrian doesn’t respond. He’s still looking at the file as if he might find another explanation buried in the data.
Margaret speaks first. “The neurologist?”
“Yes,” Adrian says quietly. “The one who treated Alessa after the crash.”
My stomach twists.
Dr. Monteverde. Soft voice. Calm smile. The woman who stood beside my hospital bed while I struggled to remember my own life.
You’re safe now, she had said.
I feel suddenly cold.
“She’s a doctor,” I say.
“Yes.”
“Why would she request corporate surveillance?”
“That’s the question.”
Margaret studies the file. “This
