Chapter 7 - THE ROOKIE'S RECKONINGWe stepped out onto the wide, open expanse of the Memorial General rooftop helipad.
The night air was freezing, whipping our hair and coats around us as the colossal blades of a twin-engine corporate helicopter churned the air overhead, throwing up a blinding gale of wind and stinging rain. Standing near the open cabin door of the aircraft was a tall, silver-haired man in an expensive bespoke suit, holding a leather briefcase in one hand and a silenced pistol in the other.
Dr. Leonard Mercer.
He didn't look like a terrified criminal; he looked like a disappointed academic staring at a failed lab experiment. As we approached against the wind, Mercer lowered his weapon slightly, a thin, patronizing smile touching his lips.
"Well, well," Mercer shouted over the roar of the rotors. "I must admit, Sebastian, I didn't think the physical therapist had it in her. But then again, desperate mothers are capable of extraordinary delusions."
"The only delusion here, Leonard," Sebastian shouted back, his voice cutting through the wind with absolute authority as he stepped forward into the full glare of the helicopter’s landing lights, "was your belief that you could keep me in a chair forever."
Mercer’s smile vanished instantly. His eyes dropped from Sebastian’s face down to his boots—standing firmly, squarely, undeniably on the pavement of the helipad. The color drained entirely from Mercer’s face.
"That's... that's impossible," Mercer stammered, taking an involuntary half-step back. "The dosage... the spinal block should have fused your lumbar vertebrae by now—"
"You were skimming millions from my accounts to fund your lavish lifestyle while treating my body like a science experiment," Sebastian interrupted, closing the distance between them with slow, measured steps. "And you thought you could threaten an innocent woman and her son to cover your tracks."
"I am a pillar of this medical community!" Mercer snarled, panic finally breaking through his polished veneer as he raised his pistol, aiming directly at Sebastian’s chest. "Without me, you’re just a crippled thug in a rented suit! I made you!"
"No, Leonard," Sebastian said, stopping just five feet away from the barrel of the gun. "You kept me broken. Now, let’s see how well you handle being fixed."
Before Mercer could pull the trigger, Gabriel stepped out from the shadow of the access hatch and fired a single, perfectly aimed round that shattered the slide of Mercer’s pistol, sending the weapon spinning off the edge of the roof into the dark abyss below.
Mercer screamed in terror, stumbling backward against the open door of the helicopter.
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"Take the briefcase, Clare," Sebastian said without breaking eye contact with the terrified surgeon. "That’s everything he used to buy his silence."
I walked forward against the howling wind, my hands steady as I snatched the heavy leather briefcase from Mercer’s trembling fingers. Inside sat the original surgical reports, the unedited financial ledgers, and the exact digital logs proving every illegal drug administration performed over the last two decades.
