Chapter 4 - The Gala of Sins
The Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel was a sea of glittering diamonds, silk gowns, and champagne flutes. The city’s elite had gathered to celebrate Mercy Harbor’s fundraising milestones, but tonight’s star was Dr. Arthur Hemlock.
Hemlock stood in the center of the room, surrounded by wealthy donors and board members. He basked in the adulation, his chest puffed out, his silver hair catching the chandelier light.
“Thank you, thank you,” Hemlock chuckled, sipping his champagne. “But really, the true reward is the lives we save. Medicine is a calling, not a job.”
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the ballroom swung open.
The chatter in the room died down to a whisper.
Walking into the room was Julian Vance. He walked with a slight, commanding limp, his silver-topped cane commanding attention with every step. But it was the woman on his arm that caused a collective gasp to ripple through the crowd.
It was Clara.
She wore a breathtaking emerald-green silk gown that contrasted perfectly with her dark hair, which was styled elegantly up, completely exposing her face. She no longer wore the tired, defeated expression of an overworked nurse. She carried herself with the quiet, regal dignity of a queen.
Hemlock’s glass nearly slipped from his fingers. His face contorted in a mixture of shock and fury.
“What is the meaning of this?” Hemlock muttered, storming toward them. “This is a private event. Jenkins, how dare you show your face here? And in that dress? Who do you think you are?”
“She is my guest,” Julian’s voice boomed, cutting through the ballroom like a scythe.
The guests whispered furiously. Everyone knew who Julian Vance was—the shadow ruler of the city. To see him standing next to a common nurse was unprecedented.
“Mr. Vance,” Hemlock said, quickly trying to salvage his polite veneer. “I am glad to see you are recovered from your emergency surgery. But this woman is a nurse under my supervision. She is highly unstable, and frankly, her presence here is an insult to the medical community.”
“Is she?” Julian asked, raising an eyebrow. He signaled to the stage.
The large projector screen behind the podium, which had been displaying a slideshow of Hemlock’s achievements, suddenly flickered.
Instead of a picture of Hemlock in surgery, a video began to play.
It was security footage from the Mercy Harbor Emergency Room, dated two nights ago at 2:14 AM.
The video was crystal clear. It showed the trauma bay. It showed Clara working diligently. And then, it showed Dr. Arthur Hemlock grabbing Clara’s ponytail and violently yanking her backward, his face twisted in rage.
The audio, captured by the high-definition trauma microphones, played loudly through the ballroom speakers:
“Keep up, or get out of my ER.”
A horrified gasp erupted from the crowd. Several wealthy donors took a step back from Hemlock as if he were contagious.
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“This... this is a fabrication!” Hemlock shrieked, his face turning a deep, ugly red. “It’s edited! She tripped! I was protecting the sterile field!”
“Are you sure about that, Arthur?” Julian asked softly, his voice echoing in the silent room. “Because we also found some other files on the hospital server. Files you thought you deleted.”
