Chapter 7 - The Shadow of BaltimoreThe Johns Hopkins Hospital cardiac wing was a labyrinth of state-of-the-art labs and endless corridors of white and chrome.
Althia stood before a floor-to-ceiling window on the ninth floor, looking out over the Baltimore skyline as the autumn rain streaked down the glass. The heavy wool coat she wore felt warm, but inside, she felt a profound, liberating lightness.
Behind her, the double doors of her new private office opened with a soft click.
Dr. Jonathan Vance—no relation, but a legendary pioneer in pediatric cardiothoracic surgery and the new Chairman of the Department—walked in holding a thick stack of blue files.
"Well, Dr. Vance," Jonathan said with an approving smile, tossing the files onto her gleaming glass desk. "The board just approved your transitional grant. Your lab is fully funded, your fellows arrived this morning, and the surgical schedule for next week is entirely yours to command."
Althia turned away from the window, offering a genuine, relaxed smile for the first time in weeks. "Thank you, Jonathan. I appreciate the swift turnaround."
"Don't thank me. You're the biggest catch we've made in a decade," Jonathan chuckled, walking over to lean against the edge of the desk. "Word is floating around the medical circuit about what happened back in New York. Sterling Memorial's stock dropped twelve points yesterday. Rumor has it the old man woke up, found out his son blew up the family empire, and threw a porcelain vase at Preston's head."
Althia raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"That's what I heard," Jonathan grinned. "Apparently, Preston tried to corner the board chairman to get them to sue you for breach of contract. They laughed him out of the room. When you hold the patent to the world's leading micro-valvular graft, you don't get sued—you get begged."
"I have no interest in bankrupting them," Althia said quietly, walking over to her desk and picking up a silver pen. "I only want what was mine: my work, my integrity, and my peace."
"Well, you have all three here," Jonathan said, turning to leave. "Oh, by the way, there's a courier downstairs waiting at reception. He brought a hand-delivered letter. Marked 'Personal and Confidential.' Security cleared it, but I told them to leave it at the front desk."
Althia’s expression cooled slightly. "Did it have a return address?"
"New York. Sterling Memorial stationary."
Althia nodded slowly. "Throw it in the shredder, Jonathan."
"Done," Jonathan said without missing a beat, and walked out of the office, closing the door behind him.
May you like
Althia sat down in her new ergonomic leather chair. She looked at the blank computer monitors, the pristine desk, and the framed board certifications hanging neatly on the wall.
She had survived the worst betrayal of her life. She hadn't broken down, she hadn't begged, and she hadn't compromised her standards. She had simply let her enemies destroy themselves under the crushing weight of their own deceit.
Related Stories
