“Yesterday?” I asked.
She opened a drawer and removed a copy of a transport form. “The original destination was not a neonatal hospital.”
I stared at her.
“Then where was she taken?” Megan asked.
Dr. Kline turned the paper around.
The destination line had been partially obscured by a stamp, but beneath it, faintly visible, were the words:
Hawthorne Family Center.
Megan frowned. “What is that?”
Priya’s warning echoed in my head.
People who believed they were protecting the Bellamy name.
I recognized Hawthorne.
Not as a hospital. Not as a clinic.
As a private family foundation my mother had supported for decades, a discreet organization known for “crisis placements” and “confidential care” for wealthy families who wanted problems handled outside headlines.
My chair scraped the floor as I stood.
Dr. Kline watched me carefully. “You know it.”
“My mother sits on the advisory board.”
Megan closed her eyes, one hand pressed to her mouth.
