Chapter 48 I stare at Miranda like she just told me the hospital is on fire. "What do you mean, 'The surgery was moved'?" Her fingers dance nervously across her keyboard. "It's right here in the system, Dr. Fairfax. Drayton Jones's surgery has been rescheduled for Wednesday at... 3:00 A.M." "3:00 A.M.? As in 3:00 A.M. in the morning?!" My voice cracks. "Who schedules surgery at three in the fucking morning?" Miranda's shoulders hunch. She won't meet my eyes. "I'm sorry, Vesper. I just input what comes down from Admin." I push past her into the nurse's station, my hands shaking as I scroll through the scheduling system. There has to be a mistake. There has to be some way to fix this. But every override I try gets denied. Every code I enter comes back with the same message: Access Restricted. My chest tightens. This isn't an accident. This is Jeremy. This is payback. "Vesper!" I turn to find one of my colleagues, Dr. Hastings, sprinting toward me. I frown when she gets close enough for me to see her usually perfect hair escaping its bun in wild, frizzy torrents. "Thank God you're here," she stammers. "I need your help with a patient." I force myself to breathe. To focus. "What's wrong with her?" "That's just it-I don't know." Jane's frustration bleeds out in every exhale. "She's having seizures, but I can't figure out why. Nothing I've tried has worked." "Neurological damage?" "None. She's sharp as a tack. Alert, talkative. No history of epilepsy, no infections, no obvious trauma." Jane combs her hands through her mussed hair. "I'm out of ideas." "How old?" "Seventy-nine." My mind starts working. "Stroke?" "Already checked. Her cardiovascular health is incredible. Better than most forty-year-olds." Something clicks. "I want to meet her." Jane nods, leading me toward the elevator. "She's on eight." As we walk, more questions tumble out of me. "Any head injuries? Blood clots? When did the seizures start?" "No injuries, no clots. The seizures began in her late fifties and they've gotten worse over time." "Around menopause?" Jane stops walking. "I... Yeah, actually. Why?" But I'm already moving faster, that familiar, thrilling buzz of discovery humming under my skin. The feeling I get when puzzle pieces start clicking into place. When we reach her room, Carmen Monroe is exactly what I expected-sharp blue eyes, silver hair pulled back neatly, and the stern attitude to match. "Another doctor?" She looks me up and down. "Let me guess. You're here because Dr. Hastings can't figure out what's wrong with me." "Something like that." I pull up a chair. "Mind if I ask you a few questions?" She squints at me. "You're far too young to be a doctor. Are you a prodigy or a ladder climber?" "Neither," I promise her. "Just a hard worker with a second opinion." Waving a hand, she pshaws. "I've had third, fourth, tenth, and twentieth opinions already. I'm rather sick of them, if we're being honest. Perhaps I should go home and let the seizures do as they will with me." "Come on now, Carmen," I scold lightly, shaking my head. "You don't look like a quitter to me." She gives me a hint of a chuckle. "It's not quitting if you've lived a long, full life and have no regrets. I'm not afraid of death, Doctor. In fact, I welcome it." "Brave as you may be, Ms. Monroe, it's not my job to send you off to meet your maker. It's my job to fix you up and postpone that meeting for as long as I can. You're not gonna make a quitter out of me, are you?" She smirks. "You're a sassy one. I like you." I grin. "Then may I proceed with my questions?" "Oh, I suppose so. Fire away. I've got nowhere else to be." She clicks off the television and faces me with her hands folded primly in her lap. I check her pulse-steady, strong. But her skin feels warm. Not feverish, just... warm. "You run hot," I observe. Carmen shrugs. "Since menopause. My internal thermostat went haywire." The pieces slam together so hard I nearly gasp. "Carmen, I think you have febrile seizures." "Fever seizures?" Jane steps closer. "But her temperature is normal." "Not all fevers present traditionally." I turn to Carmen, excitement building. "Some people's bodies don't show typical fever symptoms. The only way the fever manifests is through⁠-" As I'm talking, Carmen's eyes suddenly lose focus. They roll back, white and terrifying. "Jane!" I shout at Dr. Hastings, but Carmen's body is already convulsing, violent and rhythmic. Jane smashes the emergency button. An army of nurses floods in with equipment. I scurry back against the wall, my heart thundering as Jane takes charge of her patient. "She's coding. Charge to two hundred." The defibrillator whines. Carmen's body jerks. Nothing. "Charge to four hundred." My hands clench into fists. Come on, Carmen. You said you weren't a quitter. "It's not working. Charge to eight hundred." No. Eight hundred is too much for someone her age. I want to scream, to tell Jane to stop, but this isn't my patient. This isn't my call. The machine charges. Carmen's body arches. Then the flatline sound fills the room, long and unforgiving. Then: "... Time of death, 2:37 A.M." I'm moving before Jane finishes speaking, stumbling out of the room and down the hall. My vision blurs. My chest feels crushed. She was ready to die. She said so herself. But that doesn't make it easier. That doesn't mean I didn't fail. I find the doctor's lounge empty, thank God, and I sink into a chair by the window. The silence wraps around me like a blanket I don't want and never asked for. I sit as my eyes stud with hot tears. They splash against my hands, folded in my lap just like Carmen's were. I feel the liquid shame trickle between my knuckles. Some time later-thirty seconds or thirty minutes, I'm not quite sure-the door opens behind me. "Dr. Fairfax." Jeremy's voice makes my skin crawl. I don't turn around. "What do you want?" "Is that any way to speak to your superior?" I finally look at him. He's standing in the doorway, smug, condescending. I hate him so much it hurts. "You're only my superior on paper. Ethically, it's not even close." His smile makes my stomach turn. "You seem to think you're untouchable here, Dr. Fairfax. That your father's reputation protects you. You seem to think you can get away with murder-quite literally-because of who your father was." That makes me do a double-take. "What are you talking about?" "I heard about what happened on the eighth floor." He saunters over and sits across from me, manspreading his legs wide. "Your interference killed that woman." I should have seen this coming. I should be prepared for it. There's no line that Jeremy Fleming isn't willing to cross. It's my fault for thinking that even he wouldn't stoop this low. "You're insane," I spit. "You had no business consulting on a patient outside your department." "Since when is helping a colleague against the rules?" I don't want to sob, but it's hard not to when there are so many emotions running rampant inside of me. "You used to ask my father for help all the time. Remember Rachel Meyerson? You misdiagnosed her. Dad saved her life after you nearly killed her." Jeremy's leg starts twitching, but his expression doesn't change. "Let's be honest here, Jeremy," I continue. "You want me gone because I won't kiss your ass. This is all about power." "Gone? No, no, no. No one wants you gone, Vesper," he purrs. "We here at St. Raphael's believe in second chances-even when they're undeserved. But I have noticed you seem... overworked. Tired. You're making mistakes, and that's something we cannot afford. We here at St. Raphael's do not believe in making mistakes." I feel cold, already shivering in the face of something horrible I know is coming. "What are you saying?" I ask him. "I'm reducing your hours. Half shifts, effective immediately." I shoot to my feet. "You can't do that." "Actually, as director of this hospital, you'll find I most certainly can." He smiles serenely up at me. "And since you will be on half shifts for the foreseeable future, your pay will also be reduced accordingly. I think you'll agree that it's only fair." "The board signed off on this?" "Unanimously." "Convenient how fast that happened." He shrugs. "We're efficient here at St. Raphael's." "Then I'm sure you've reviewed my request for the new incubator for pediatrics?" Jeremy smooths his tie. "Denied. No funds available, I'm afraid." "You just cut my salary!" I cry out incredulously. "Use that money for equipment that saves children's lives." "That money is already allocated elsewhere." "Where? To your vacation fund? A fucking beach house in Cabo?" His eyes narrow. "Really, Dr. Fairfax. Such foul language. Your father would be disappointed." He rises and heads for the door, but I can't stop myself. "My father was your mentor! He'd be ashamed of what you've become." Jeremy pauses at the threshold. When he turns back, his smile has devolved into an inhuman grimace. "Your father spent more time with me than he ever did with you. Have you ever considered that I might know him better than you do?" "No, as a matter of fact, I haven't." "Keep telling yourself whatever stories you like, Vesper." His voice drops to a whisper. "But meditate on this: maybe, just maybe... Thomas Fairfax wasn't the man you think he was."