“What are we doing?”

I asked.

“We’re building irrefutable legal intent,” David said darkly. “We’re going to financially crucify him.”

Just as I hung up, a piercing, high-pitched alarm echoed from the hallway outside. It was coming from Room 107. Sarah’s cardiac monitor was flatlining.

I sprinted down the hallway, bursting through the door of Room 107. Brenda was already at the bedside, adjusting the oxygen flow and stabilizing the IV lines.

The horrific blaring of the monitor ceased, returning to a weak, fragile rhythm.

“False alarm,” Brenda breathed, wiping sweat from her forehead. “A sensor slipped off her chest. But her vitals are dropping, Martha. She doesn’t have much time.”