They told me she was just an unidentified vagrant brought into Bayfront Medical Center at 2:00 AM.
The administrative review meeting had ended with Higgins’s smug assurance that my “well-being” was his top priority. I knew better. It was a thinly veiled threat, a calculated move to sideline me. My only recourse was to act fast, before his gaslighting campaign took deeper root.
During my lunch shift, while the hospital cafeteria buzzed with midday chatter, I slipped away. I used a forgotten keycard from a former colleague, accessing the main server room in the hospital’s sub-basement. The air grew colder, heavy with the hum of countless machines.
Rows of blinking servers lined the walls, a digital fortress of information. I found a vacant terminal and logged in using my top-tier surgical credentials. The system granted me full access.
My fingers flew across the keyboard, navigating through the labyrinthine directories. I was searching for Hannah Parker’s file, her original intake details, any digital record of her identity, her medical history, and especially, the genetic markers from the initial blood work. I knew Marcus had restricted them, but I needed to download them, copy them, make them my own.
I located the relevant directory, a folder labeled “Non-Standard Intakes – Marcus H.” The label itself was incriminating. I clicked, my heart pounding.
The screen flashed, displaying a list of files. “Parker, H. – Doe ID: X789.” It was there. All of it.
I clicked “Download All,” selecting a secure, encrypted drive I had brought. A progress bar appeared, inching forward. For a moment, relief washed over me. I was getting it.
Then, the screen flickered.
The progress bar froze, then began to recede. My blood ran cold.
The directory dissolved, replaced by a generic error message: “File Path Not Found.”
I tried again, and again, but the directory was gone. The entire data path, wiped clean. It wasn’t a glitch. This was an active, remote purge.
Marcus. He had anticipated my move. He wasn’t just gaslighting me; he was erasing Hannah from the hospital’s digital memory.
My hands flew back to the keyboard, furiously trying to recover, to trace, to find any cached data. But it was useless. Every digital trace of Hannah Parker’s presence inside Bayfront Medical Center, every record, every genetic marker, was gone. Erased.
The humming of the servers suddenly sounded less like progress and more like a death knell. I had nothing left but the physical evidence I had snatched—the backup blood vials. And the terrifying knowledge that Marcus Higgins was always one step ahead, always ready to cut me off, leaving me utterly alone in this fight.
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