And every entry I documented, every payment I traced, every falsified diagnosis I flagged, was a door I was opening for someone who didn’t yet know they’d been locked in a room.

I stopped, at one point, and put my head in my hands, not from exhaustion but from the weight of it.

Cormac brought me tea and didn’t ask.

When I finally spoke, I said the only thing that fit.

“He didn’t just do this to me.” And Cormac said, “No.

But you’re the one who’s going to make it cost him.” I went back to the spreadsheet.