The folder trembled in Clara's hands.
She hadn't slept. The documents Dr. Eze had handed her were spread across her apartment floor like shards of broken glass — each one cutting deeper than the last.
Court papers. Medical trial documents. A list of unapproved experimental drugs. And then… letters. Written in her mother's handwriting.
Some addressed to the hospital board.
Some to the police.
Some to Clara.
But none were ever sent.
A knock jolted her from the floor. She rose slowly, half-expecting Malcolm or security. Instead, it was Zayn.
He didn't speak at first. Just stepped inside, saw the chaos, and shut the door behind him.
"You found her," he said quietly.
Clara nodded, too tired to cry. "She's alive. But she's not… fully there. And the hospital is worse than we thought."
Zayn stepped over the files and sat beside her. "I heard something. One of the interns whispered about an audit coming."
She looked at him sharply. "An audit?"
He nodded. "Unscheduled. Financial and ethical. Word is… someone tipped off an independent investigative body."
Her eyes narrowed. "Was it you?"
Zayn looked away. "No. But I think someone's trying to burn the place down before it swallows them whole."
Clara handed him one of the letters. "Then this is gasoline."
The next morning, Clara returned to St. Gabriel's.
She didn't wear her uniform. She walked through the front doors as a visitor — not a nurse. Not anymore.
The receptionist greeted her with a forced smile, but behind the desk, Clara spotted two unfamiliar men in plain suits. One was quietly observing the board of directors' wall. The other had a badge clipped discreetly to his belt.
The investigation had begun.
She made her way to the staff lounge. Inside, the energy was off. Conversations were hushed. People avoided eye contact. Nurses who had once smiled at her looked away, as if her presence was now radioactive.
She wasn't just a nurse anymore.
She was a threat.
Zayn appeared in the doorway minutes later.
"They called an emergency board meeting," he said. "Half the administrators didn't show. Malcolm's disappeared."
Clara stood. "Then now's the time."
In the boardroom, she waited until the end of the chaotic meeting.
Then she walked in with the folder in her arms.
Every head turned. Her former supervisor — Nurse Gloria — whispered something under her breath. Dr. Eze was already seated at the back, watching, waiting.
Clara cleared her throat. "I'm not here to be polite."
Dr. Emeka, the acting chairman, frowned. "Miss Okwara, this is a private—"
"This hospital has lied. Falsified records. Hidden patients. Conducted illegal drug trials without consent. And I have proof."
Gasps broke out across the room. One of the board members stood. "This is slander."
Clara stepped forward and slammed the folder down.
"My mother was listed as deceased in your records for ten years. I found her in Ward X, drugged, silenced, and treated like a ghost. You told me she died. You lied."
Dr. Eze stood. "Let her speak."
Silence fell.
Clara opened the folder and pulled out several pages, handing them to the clerk beside the chairman.
"Here are the financials you tried to hide. Payments made to third-party contractors for 'medical testing' with no signed patient waivers."
She pulled out more pages. "Here are letters my mother wrote — letters you buried. She wanted to expose the trials. She was silenced for it."
The chairman's voice faltered. "Where did you get this?"
Clara didn't blink. "From the only doctor here who still has a conscience."
She turned to Eze, and he gave a small, solemn nod.
Chaos erupted. Voices rose. Some board members stood to leave. Others demanded an adjournment.
But the men from the lobby — the investigators — stepped in.
"Everyone stay seated," one said. "This meeting is now under federal review."
That evening, Clara returned to Ward X.
Her mother was asleep, the lines still in her arms. But this time, there were no guards. No locked doors. The ward had been unsealed. The truth was bleeding into the light.
She sat by the bed and took her mother's hand.
"I did it," she whispered. "I told them. And they listened."
Her mother stirred, slowly opening her eyes.
For the first time since Clara found her, she smiled.
It was small.
But it was real.
Later, back at her apartment, Clara sat alone with a cup of tea. The sun was setting. Zayn sat across from her, quiet.
"They're offering you a settlement," he said softly. "To keep quiet."
She laughed bitterly. "Of course they are."
"Will you take it?"
She shook her head. "Not after what they did. This is bigger than me. My mother. It's about every patient who never had a voice."
Zayn leaned back. "What now?"
Clara looked out the window. "Now? I write everything down. Every detail. Every lie. Every truth. And I send it to every medical board and news outlet that'll listen."
He smiled. "You're dangerous."
She sipped her tea. "No. I'm finally awake."