Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Cloud
Leo’s apartment smelled like stale espresso and soldering iron rosin. Three glowing monitors dominated his workspace, throwing green and blue shadows across his concentrated face.
I sat beside him, my hands wrapped around a paper cup, watching lines of code dance across the center screen.
“Whoever wiped your account wasn’t a hacker,” Leo muttered, clicking rapidly. “They were careless. They logged in using your saved password from your Google account—probably lifted from your iPad or a synced browser at the family mansion.”
“Can you see where they logged in from?” I asked, leaning forward.
“Better,” Leo grinned, bringing up a detailed server log. “Every time a file is deleted from a remote server, an audit log is created. The files were purged at 11:42 PM on the night of the incident. The IP address resolves to a dedicated fiber-optic line registered to the St. Jude Health Foundation Headquarters—specifically, the terminal in Elena’s private office.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “That proves Elena was the one who deleted the evidence.”
“It proves someone in her office did,” Leo corrected. “In court, a slick defense attorney would argue a cleaning person or an assistant touched the computer. But here’s the jackpot, Mariana: she only deleted the cached thumbnails and the high-res cloud links. She didn't wipe the raw metadata packets sent to the carrier’s network tower during the upload attempt.”
Leo pressed an execute key.
Slowly, line by line, four fragmented image files reconstructed themselves on the screen.
They weren’t high-resolution enough to print on a billboard, but they were unmistakably clear. The yellow hairdryer submerged beside a limp arm. The scorch marks on the outlet. The tripped breaker switch. And the timestamp stamped directly into the raw code: *10:14 AM.*
Ten minutes *before* Elena dialed 911. Ten minutes *before* she claimed she found Daniela unconscious.
“This destroys her narrative,” I breathed. “She told police she found Daniela at 10:25 AM and that I was the one who caused the commotion.”
“It gets dirtier,” Leo said, turning his chair toward me. “While I was tunneling into the foundation’s public network to verify that IP, I noticed something strange about their patient management registry.”
“What do you mean?”
“Daniela isn't in a standard coma, Mariana.” Leo lowered his voice. “I pulled her latest chart from the private clinic where Elena had her transferred yesterday afternoon. She regained consciousness yesterday morning.”
I sprang to my feet. “She’s awake? Then why did Mauricio tell me she was unresponsive?”
“Because she’s being held under chemical sedation,” Leo said grimly, showing me the medication administration record. “High-dose midazolam and propofol infusions. They’re keeping her under. The doctor who signed the sedation order isn’t a neurologist. It’s Dr. Arthur Vance—Mauricio’s uncle and Elena’s personal physician.”
A wave of pure nausea washed over me. Daniela wasn't lingering in a natural coma. Elena was deliberately keeping her own daughter unconscious to prevent her from speaking to the police.
Why?
What could Daniela possibly know that was so terrifying, Elena would drug her own flesh and blood?
“I have to see her,” I said, grabbing my coat.
“Mariana, you can't just walk into St. Jude Foundation Clinic,” Leo warned, grabbing my wrist. “Elena owns the building. The private security team answers directly to her payroll. If they catch you trespassing, they’ll lock you up before sunrise.”
“I’m a certified trauma nurse,” I replied, staring at him with fierce resolve. “I know every blind spot, every shift-change schedule, and every service elevator in that facility. Elena spent four years treating me like a ghost in her house.”
I pulled my old hospital badge and a fresh pair of dark navy scrubs from my bag.
May you like
“Tonight, the ghost is walking through her front door.”
***
