I smoothed the certified hospital records flat on the laminate counter.

I stacked the four birth certificates, the postal receipts, and the notarized El Paso divorce papers into one neat pile.

I placed the stack in my leather briefcase, turned the brass dials to my combination, and pressed the heavy locks down until they clicked.

The steel desk in the regional medical dispatch office felt cold against my forearms at eight o’clock that morning.

I was checking the battery contacts on fifty-four orange emergency radios when my personal phone buzzed on the metal surface.