Chapter 3 - Shadows of the Past
Elijah stood outside the massive glass building, the cold autumn wind whipping his thin cardigan against his frame. The heavy oak doors of the hospital he built with his wife’s blood, sweat, and memory had just been locked behind him.
Two armed security guards stood at the entrance, ensuring the old man didn't step back onto the property.
He sat down heavily on a cold stone bench across the street, holding Margaret’s brown leather folder to his chest. Tears of betrayal and helplessness burned his eyes. He had failed her. Twenty years after losing their daughter, Clara, to the cold indifference of medical greed, he had allowed the same beast to nest inside his own sanctuary.
"Mr. Carter?"
Elijah looked up. Standing beside him was Dr. Marcus Reed, holding two paper cups of steaming coffee. He had taken off his lab coat.
"They'll fire you if they see you talking to me, Marcus," Elijah said quietly, his voice cracked with grief.
"Let them," Reed said, sitting beside the old founder and handing him a cup. "I didn't take the Hippocratic Oath to make Arthur Vance rich. That boy, Leo—we stabilized him. He had severe internal bleeding from a ruptured appendix. If he had waited another thirty minutes in that lobby, he would have died."
Elijah closed his eyes, relief washing over him, followed immediately by burning anger. "Arthur has taken control of the board. He faked or manipulated a proxy vote while I was sick. They’re turning the hospital into a playground for the rich."
"It's worse than that, Elijah," Dr. Reed said, lowering his voice and looking around cautiously. "It's not just about turning a profit. Something sinister is happening on the 4th floor—the restricted experimental wing."
Elijah turned to look at him. "The 4th floor was supposed to be for pediatric oncology."
"It was," Reed whispered. "Until Arthur closed it to general staff three years ago. Only Julian Vance and a select team of imported specialists have access. Patients who go up there... their records are scrubbed. I caught a glimpse of a patient roster last week. These aren't wealthy donors, Elijah. They are poor, unregistered patients from the free clinics. People who won't be missed if they disappear."
Elijah's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. "What are they doing to them?"
"I don't know," Reed admitted, his eyes filled with genuine dread. "But whatever it is, Aegis Health Holdings is funding it. And pharmaceutical giants are paying millions for the data."
Elijah looked up at the towering glass building. The memory of his dying daughter, helpless in a cold waiting room, flashed through his mind, merging with the image of little Leo curled on the floor.
May you like
He gripped the leather folder. The time for grieving was over.
"Marcus," Elijah said, his voice cold and hard as steel. "How do we get into the 4th floor tonight?"
