The call came at 3:12 a.m.
Damian woke instantly.
Years of corporate crises had trained his body to recognize urgency before consciousness fully returned. His phone vibrated relentlessly on the nightstand, the caller ID flashing his private investigator's name.
Grant Hale never called at this hour unless something had gone very wrong.
Damian answered. “Talk.”
Static crackled briefly before Grant’s voice cut through, tight and controlled.
“There’s been a fire.”
The word froze the air in the room.
Damian sat upright slowly. “Where?”
“The Riverside storage facility. The one connected to the hospital archives contractor.”
Silence filled the space between them.
Damian’s chest tightened.
The warehouse.
The final location holding physical records tied to emergency maintenance contrac
