Newcomer Transplant Surgeon Forced to Kneel Before Husband’s Mistress Calls Her Central Bank Chairman Father to Recall a $50 Million Hospital Loan, Triggering a Catastrophic Dynasty Downfall at Gre...
The words hung in the air: “calculated sabotage.” Chloe wasn’t just a victim or a spiteful mistress; she was a predator. My stomach churned. The very thought made my skin crawl. She had been weeping in front of me, feigning vulnerability while she meticulously planned to ruin my career, possibly even ending patients’ lives.
“We need the physical blood samples,” I said, my voice tight with urgency. “From those patients. Before she or Eleanor can destroy them.”
Sean nodded, already on his feet. “Agreed. If she was introducing potassium, there should be traces in the post-mortem or stored samples. They’ll likely be in the ICU lab or the central pathology archive.”
We moved quickly, a silent, determined pair. The diner’s mundane backdrop faded as we stepped back into the sterile, high-stakes environment of St. Jude. The air felt charged, every shadow holding a potential threat.
As we approached the ICU wing, a rapid “Code Red” announcement blared over the PA system. “All non-essential personnel, clear the ICU floor immediately. Lockdown initiated.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “Eleanor,” I muttered. “She knows we’re coming.”
Hospital security guards, their faces grim, were already moving to seal the double doors leading into the ICU. A burly guard, his hand on a radio, blocked our path.
“Sorry, doctor,” he said, not looking at me. “ICU is on lockdown. No entry without specific authorization from Dr. Albright.”
Sean stepped forward, flashing his federal ID. “Federal investigation. We have immediate access.”
The guard glanced at the badge, his eyes narrowing, then pressed his earpiece. A moment later, his expression hardened. “Orders from Dr. Albright. No one enters. Federal or otherwise.”
“She can’t override a federal investigation,” Sean stated, his voice calm but firm.
“These are hospital grounds,” the guard replied, unmoving. “And these are Dr. Albright’s orders.”
We were blocked. Trapped outside, while inside, the evidence was at risk. I peered through the glass partition. The main corridor was empty, but through another window, I saw Julian hurrying down a side hallway, a large, dark-red biohazard bag clutched in his hand. He was heading towards the incinerator lab.
“Julian,” I whispered, pointing. “He has the blood vials. He’s going to burn them.”
Sean followed my gaze. “The incinerator lab. That’s where they dispose of biohazardous waste. We need to stop him.”
But the security guard remained a physical wall. “Step back, Dr. Lin-Danforth. Or I’ll have to escort you out.”
This wasn’t just about my career anymore. This was about evidence of attempted murder. And the lives of potentially more patients. I scanned the corridor, my mind racing. The emergency hazardous chemical containment system. It had a manual override, a bright red lever tucked behind a glass panel, designed to isolate biohazard spills.
It would lock down the entire lab corridor, including the incinerator.
“There’s a lockdown lever for hazardous materials,” I told Sean, pointing towards a red box on the wall near the lab entrance, just visible past the guard’s shoulder. “It seals the entire section.”
“That would trap him inside with the evidence,” Sean confirmed, his eyes fixed on the lever. “But it would also fully seal the area. No one in, no one out, until hazmat protocols are cleared.”
“We don’t have another choice,” I said, my gaze locked on Julian, who was almost at the incinerator door. The guard was focused on us, not on the lever. This was our only chance.
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