The back of the black-and-white poker chip was engraved with my father’s initials, JH: Dr. Joshua Hardman. We’d named Josh after him when we found out our baby was going to be a boy.

What I couldn’t understand was why Nate would have this poker chip on him when he died.

I’d given it away a long time ago.

My name drifted to me from somewhere far away. Urgently. Demanding my attention.

“Emma!”

It was Ben.

I lifted my gaze. Blinked.

Ben.

I slipped the chip into my pocket and fumbled in Nate’s slacks for his keys, finally finding the one I needed.

In medicine, you’re faced with impossible choices every day. Where does the line lie between good and bad, benefit and harm? Radiation and chemotherapy kill healthy cells and damage a patient’s body, but can also save their life. We amputate limbs to save someone’s life from, say, gangrene or flesh-eating bacteria. Under narrowly defined circumstances, assisted dying gives patients a means of dying with dignity.

Saving a patient’s life or, in some cases, terminating it humanely justifies the pain of chemo or the loss of a limb or handing a patient the pills that will help ease their suffering.

I guess what I’m saying is, sometimes we have to harm to heal. To get justice in an unjust world.

I unlocked the handcuffs binding Ben’s wrists. My tears were already cooling on my frozen cheeks; soon they would turn to ice.

“Gabe killed Violeta,” I told Ben. “I saw him do it. He gave her the wrong bag of drugs because he wanted the money in the briefcase, and then he pushed her body into the river to get rid of the evidence. I swore I wouldn’t tell you because I wanted help getting the money to save Josh. I’m so sorry, Ben. I should’ve told you sooner.”

Ben staggered to his feet, blinking hard over and over. He twisted his wrists to get the blood moving. He threw the hat and tie I’d knotted around his head to the ground. His eyes burned with a crazed light. Blood from his mangled ear streaked his jaw and neck.

I picked up the gun and held it out. “I’ll take care of everything.”

Ben grabbed the gun and lurched toward the door.

“Ben!” He glanced over his shoulder. “You weren’t here for this. You and Carlos fought earlier. He shot you. But you weren’t here for this.”

Ben nodded, and a second later he disappeared into the whirling snow.

I turned to study the scene. I let my breathing slow, my mind going blank, my thoughts receding. I didn’t have much time. Trace evidence would show hair, fiber, blood, fingerprints, tissue. Probably even the drugs.

Now more than ever I had to stay calm. Focused.