The conference room on the top floor was thick with cigar smoke and tension. The Board of Directors sat around the mahogany table like a jury of executioners.
Ophelia sat in a chair in the corner, scrolling through her phone, looking bored.
"She has no license!" Sloan slammed his fist on the table. "She assaulted a senior physician! It was luck! Dumb luck!"
"She saved his life, Sloan," Dr. Zayne said quietly. "The toxicology report just came back. She was right. Digitalis and... something else. Something synthetic."
Mr. Black, the chairman of the board, leaned forward. "The Sterling family is demanding answers. If Silas dies here, our stock crashes. We lose everything."
The Chief of Surgery turned to Ophelia. "Miss Vance. You seem to have an opinion. What is the treatment?"
Ophelia stood up. She walked to the whiteboard. She picked up a black marker.
In three swift strokes, she drew a heart.
"The toxin has bound to the myocardial tissue," she said. "Dialysis won't touch it. You need to perform a myocardial lavage under cardiopulmonary bypass."
The room erupted.
"Lavage?" Sloan laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Washing the heart? That's theoretical! It's never been done successfully on a human!"
Ophelia capped the marker. "You can't do it. That doesn't mean it can't be done."
"It's too risky," Mr. Black said, shaking his head. "We can't authorize experimental surgery."
"Fine." Ophelia tossed the marker onto the table. It bounced and hit the floor. "Then wait for him to die. And get your lawyers ready, because the Sterlings will own this building by Monday."
She turned and walked toward the door. "My time is expensive. I'm leaving."
"Wait!" The Chief stood up. "How confident are you?"
Ophelia stopped. She didn't turn around. "One hundred percent."
Sloan scoffed. "God doesn't give one hundred percent."
Ophelia looked over her shoulder. Her eyes were green fire. "In the OR, I am God."
The double doors swung open.
Six men in suits walked in. At the front was an elderly man with a scar running down his cheek. The Sterling family butler. He held a document in his hand.
He scanned the room, his eyes landing instantly on Ophelia.
"You are the woman who intervened?" he asked. His voice was gravel and steel.
Sloan jumped up. "She's leaving! We were just escorting her out! She's a fraud!"
The butler ignored him. He walked to Ophelia and bowed.
"Master Silas woke for a moment," the butler said. "He gave a description. He demands you perform the surgery."
Sloan's jaw dropped. "What?"
The Chief's face transformed instantly into a mask of ingratiating smiles. "Well, Miss Vance, it seems we have a consensus."
Ophelia looked at the butler. "Tell Silas my fee is astronomical."
"The Sterling family pays its debts," the butler said.
Ophelia nodded. She turned to Sloan.
"I want him scrubbed in," she said, pointing a finger at Sloan's chest.
Sloan blinked. "Me?"
"Yes. You're going to be my second assistant. You're going to hold the retractors. And if you speak, I'll have you removed."
Sloan's face turned a deep, bruised purple. To be demoted to a glorified intern? In his own hospital?
"Do it," Mr. Black ordered.
Sloan swallowed his rage. "Yes, ma'am."
