Chapter 11 "Dr. Fairfax, wait! The board is in session- You can't just⁠-" Lynn scrambles from behind her desk in a desperate attempt to stop me, her chair squeaking as it spins behind her. But I'm already pushing through the heavy oak doors of the meeting room, and Jeremy's voice cuts off mid-sentence like I've yanked the plug from a speaker. Twelve faces turn toward me, but I only see two that matter: Jeremy's arctic blue eyes and Shana's rat-like sneer. The rest might as well be mannequins for all the backbone they possess. "Gentlemen. Shana." I pause in the doorway. "Sorry to interrupt your... What do we call this? Creative accounting? Devil worshipping circle?" Jeremy's laugh is painfully forced. "Dr. Fairfax, this is highly inappropriate. We're in the middle of⁠-" "Oh, man, I would really love to hear how you finish that sentence," I interrupt with a forced laugh of my own. "If you asked me, I'd say you're in the middle of weighing the costs of saving kids' lives against all the yachts you could buy if those dollars went into your own pockets instead. And the poor kiddos are coming up just a teensy, weensy bit short." Any remnant of a fake smile on Jeremy's face withers and dies. The rest of the room is silent, too. Dr. Weatherly strokes his mustache nervously, while Dr. Kaplan suddenly finds the surface of the mahogany table fascinating. "That's quite an accusation," Shana purrs. "Perhaps you'd care to elaborate?" "I nearly lost an eight-year-old boy today." My voice doesn't shake, even though my hands want to. "Do you know why I almost lost him?" Jeremy adjusts his tie and fidgets, feigning indifference. "Equipment malfunction happens, Doctor. It's regrettable, but⁠-" "What you call 'regrettable,' I tend to call 'willful, homicidal negligence.'" I pivot toward the other board members, these spineless men who used to respect my father, who used to respect this profession. Who used to give a fuck about children. "Dr. Weatherly, how many times have I stood in this exact spot, begging for updated anesthesia equipment? Five? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty?" His mustache twitches, but he won't meet my eyes. "Dr. Kaplan, do you remember my presentation on cardiac monitors? I told you what would most likely happen, and then, whaddaya know, a preteen girl coded out on my table, the exact way I said she would." Silence. Always fucking silence from these cowards. "Today, that equipment you've been ignoring nearly killed another child. A child who came to us for help. Who trusted us." My voice cracks on the last word, and I hate myself for it, though not enough to stop. "But I guess dead kids don't affect quarterly bonuses, do they?" Jeremy clears his throat. The sound has a menacing edge to it. "Dr. Fairfax, this emotional outburst is beneath you. I think perhaps you need some time off. Extended leave, maybe. To... process." "I don't need to process a goddamn thing. I know what I'm saying. I mean every word." "Your father's legacy seems to have given you certain expectations about how this hospital operates." He smiles again. It's smarmy enough to make me want to vomit right in his lap. "But nepotism died with Thomas Fairfax, I'm afraid." The room spins for a second. He did not just⁠- "My father earned his place here through decades of service," I snarl between clenched teeth. "I've done the same." "Have you?" Shana chimes in. "Because last week, you abandoned your shift without following protocol. Left early, if memory serves. Almost like you knew something was going to happen." My mouth opens, then closes. "And now, you're making wild accusations about equipment that you claim is faulty," Jeremy continues, circling closer and closer to me like a shark. "Equipment that works perfectly fine for every other doctor in this hospital. Makes one wonder if the problem isn't the machines, but the operator." "Are you questioning my competence?" "I'm questioning your stability." He's close enough now that I can smell him, like rotten meat doused in a cloying, old man aftershave that makes me sick to my stomach. "Your judgment. Your continued ability to function in a high-stakes professional environment such as this revered institution." His words are a velvety croon, and to my horror, they seem to be having the intended effect on his audience. Every mindless lemming in this room is now looking at me like I'm the problem. Like I'm the one slowly killing this place from the inside. "If you'd followed proper requisition procedures," Jeremy is saying, "new equipment would have been ordered immediately. We're not monsters, Dr. Fairfax. We want the same thing you do: to save lives. But we can't help you if you won't help yourself." And there it is. The masterstroke. He's made me look like an incompetent, unstable legacy hire who blames everyone but herself for her failures. Weatherly nods. Kaplan mumbles. I've lost before I even began to fight. "Now," Jeremy says, settling back into his chair like a king on his throne, "I suggest you go home. Cool off. Think about whether this is really the career path for you." I scan the room one more time, looking for even a flicker of support, of humanity. But these men sold their souls long ago, probably for stock options and first-row parking spaces. There's nothing left to appeal to. Jeremy finds me hours later, as I'm finishing my rounds. The corridor is dim, most of the day staff gone home to their families, their normal lives, their clear consciences. "Quite a performance this morning, Dr. Fairfax." I don't look at him. Can't trust myself not to do something that'll end my career faster than he already plans to. "The only performance was yours," I say quietly. "Academy Award worthy, really. The concerned administrator, just trying to do his job." He steps closer, and something dark flickers across his perfect features. "Careful, Vesper. You're walking a very thin line." The use of my first name makes my skin crawl. "Is that a threat?" "It's friendly advice." He smiles. "From someone who has your best interests at heart." "Oh, yes, my best interests." I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Because destroying my reputation and endangering my patients is exactly what the doctor ordered." "You did that all by yourself." He's close now. Too close. I want him to back up or I might do something reckless. "I simply illuminated the facts." "The facts are that you're slowly murdering this hospital for profit." Something savage crosses his face, there and gone so quickly I almost miss it. "You seem not to understand me. So let me put it simply: If you ever-and I mean ever-interrupt another board meeting like you did today, I will personally ensure you never practice medicine in this city again. In this state, if necessary." "You don't have that kind of power." The laugh that follows is soft, intimate, terrifying. "Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea what kind of power I have. Or who my friends are." Keres. The name whispers through my mind like a ghost. I don't know if it's out of the blue or if there's some actual merit to my suspicion, but the thought alone puts a disgusting taste in my mouth. What if Jeremy's corruption goes deeper than stealing equipment budgets? What if he's connected to something darker? "Go home, Dr. Fairfax." He steps away finally, mercifully. "And when you come back tomorrow-if you come back-remember where you stand. Remember who decides your future here. I won't bother warning you again." Then he walks away, leaving me alone in the hallway with the lingering scent of cheap cologne and priceless threats. "I have to do something, Charity." I'm in my car, phone connected to Bluetooth, the city lights blurring past my windshield like glowing tears. "Jeremy is turning St. Raphael's into a corporate death trap. My patients are going to die, and he's going to profit from it." "What happened today?" Her voice is gentle, careful. She knows I'm hanging by a thread. "Same old shit sandwich, just a different day. My anesthesia equipment malfunctioned during surgery. The boy was eight years old, Charity. Eight. We almost lost him because Jeremy won't spend money on anything that doesn't line his pockets." "Jesus, Ves." "I confronted him. The whole board. It went about as well as you'd expect." I swallow hard, tasting failure and fury in equal measure. "He basically accused me of being an incompetent nepo baby." "Yikes. Confrontation might not be the best strategy here, hon," she says carefully. "You need evidence. Proof of mismanagement, corruption, whatever. But it has to be something that'll stick." "With what army? Half the doctors here are on his illicit payroll, and the other half are too scared to speak up. I'm rapidly joining the scared half." "Would leaving be such a terrible thing?" she questions. "I mean, St. Raphael's isn't your dad's hospital anymore." I recoil at the implication. "This place is my home, Charity. These are my patients, my calling, my father's legacy. I won't abandon them." "Then what's your plan?" That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? "I think this goes deeper than Jeremy and Shana," I say cautiously. "There's something else happening here. Something bigger." "What do you mean?" Keres. The name burns on my tongue, but I can't say it out loud. Not yet. Not until I understand what it means. "Nothing. I don't even know. I've had a long day and I'm exhausted. But, hey, I'm almost home. I'll call you later?" "Always." I park outside my building, a modest complex that's seen better decades. The elevator groans its way to the third floor, and my feet feel like lead as I walk down the hallway to 402. I slide my key into the lock, push open the door-and freeze. Because the living room window is open. I never, ever leave it open when I leave for work. A chill runs down my spine that has nothing to do with the night air flowing through my apartment. I'm not alone. Someone is here. Someone is waiting for me.