Miguel walked into the room, tossing his suit jacket onto the floor, unbuttoning his shirt as he went.
Meanwhile, I instructed the hotel to project the footage from his room onto the conference hall’s screen and simultaneously started a livestream online.
"Miguel, if you want to rise to fame, I’ll make sure it’s for all the wrong reasons!" I muttered to myself.
Immediately, the massive conference hall was filled with the sound of heavy breathing. On the screen, two entangled bodies were on full display.
Doctors who hadn’t yet left the venue looked up, their faces frozen in shock. Gasps and screams rippled through the crowd.
Midway through their passion, Miguel pulled out that disgusting bottle of lubricant again.
Tricia stopped him with a shy smile, her cheeks flushed. “Dr. Richardson, about Chloe’s surgery...”
“We’ll do it as soon as we’re back! Be good, perform well, and I’ll head back tonight to make sure it’s scheduled for tomorrow...” he answered roughly.
Viewers of the livestream quickly recognized Miguel and Tricia.
The chat exploded with furious comments.
[No wonder my son’s surgery keeps getting postponed—guess it’s because I’m not a woman who can trade my body!]
[What kind of scumbags are allowed in hospitals nowadays? Surgery scheduling depends on spreading your legs now?!]
[Can someone drop the hotel address? My daughter hasn’t even gotten a consultation yet. I’m going there today to ‘thank’ this doctor myself!]
Seeing that last comment, I helpfully enabled the hotel’s location tag and pinned the room number for good measure.
Within three minutes, enraged local patients’ families showed up at the hotel. Armed with cans of paint and baseball bats, they stormed into the elevator, seething with anger.
Meanwhile, the footage continued. Miguel and Tricia were now basking in post-coital tenderness. It took less than three minutes for their performance to become a nationwide laughingstock.
Just then, I received a message from my friend at the prison.
[Ms. Gomez, your guest has arrived.]
Moments later, the hotel lobby echoed with the enraged roar of a man.
“Where the hell is that bitch Tricia? Daring to cheat on me—I'll break her legs!”
It was Tricia’s freshly released husband, Brandon.
I escorted him to their room and, out of politeness, knocked on the door.
Inside, Miguel’s irritated voice snapped, clearly unhappy about being interrupted. “Who is it? Get lost!”
“It’s your daddy!” Brandon bellowed.
The door was kicked open with a loud bang. Brandon stormed in, pulling a kitchen knife from his waistband.
