Chapter 8
The afternoon sun shifted, casting long, geometric shadows across the linoleum floor as the hospital settled into the quiet lull between afternoon treatments and evening dinner drops. Officer Davis maintained his unyielding post outside the double doors, a reassuring silhouette visible through the frosted glass panel.
Inside the room, the atmosphere had shifted from acute crisis to cautious recovery. Clara sat propped up against a stack of pillows, nursing the baby while Marcus reviewed a digital tablet containing the infant’s latest vital signs. The baby fed quietly, his tiny hands rhythmically kneading against Clara’s arm in an instinctive display of contentment.
“Vitals are stable,” Marcus announced, tapping the screen before locking it and setting it aside. “Weight is holding steady, and respiration is clear. Honestly, kid’s tougher than both of us combined.”
Clara smiled faintly, brushing a stray lock of dark hair away from her forehead. “He gets that from his mother.”
“Or his protective pediatrician,” Marcus added with a rare, genuine grin that softened the sharp angles of his face.
The moment of levity was abruptly shattered by the sharp, electronic chime of the room’s intercom system. A smooth, receptionist voice echoed through the speaker. “Dr. Marcus Vance, please report to the executive administrative suite immediately. Dr. Marcus Vance, executive suite.”
Marcus’s smile vanished instantly. He exchanged a long, heavy look with Clara.
“They’re making their move,” Clara whispered, her grip tightening almost imperceptibly around the baby.
“Don’t worry,” Marcus said, standing up and smoothing down the front of his white coat with deliberate calm. “Sterling wants to threaten me with termination, let him try. But he won’t do it while my license is backed by federal compliance laws and public scrutiny. I’ll be back before you even miss me.”
“Be careful, Marcus,” Clara warned, her eyes tracking him as he walked toward the door. “Eleanor doesn’t play by normal rules.”
“Neither do I when patients are involved,” Marcus replied. He pulled open the double doors, stepped out into the bright hallway, and let the heavy barrier swing shut behind him, leaving Clara alone with her child in the quiet sanctuary of the recovery room.
May you like
The walk down the pristine white hallway to the executive suite felt like walking the green mile. Every door he passed seemed to hum with the quiet judgment of an institution more concerned with endowments and public relations than human lives. When Marcus reached the mahogany double doors of the executive suite, he didn’t bother knocking. He simply pushed them open and stepped inside.
Administrator Sterling sat behind a massive glass desk, flanked not by lawyers, but by two private security guards in dark suits—and Eleanor Vance herself, who sat perched elegantly in a leather armchair near the window, sipping black coffee from a porcelain cup as if she owned the building. Which, practically speaking, she almost did.
