Hayes let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
He unlocked his bottom desk drawer and pulled out a plain manila envelope.
He tossed it onto the desk.
"Open it."
Ana reached out, her fingers trembling slightly.
She dumped the contents onto the wood.
A stack of glossy photographs and a printed dossier slid out.
The top photo showed the man from last night, wearing the dark trench coat, walking into the hospital.
"Read the name on the dossier," Hayes commanded.
Ana's eyes scanned the black ink.
Her gaze locked onto the bold letters at the top.
Auguste Raymond.
The name hit her brain like a freight train.
Flashes of the recent inauguration ceremony broadcasted on every TV screen in America flooded her mind.
Her hands started to shake violently.
The photograph slipped from her fingers and fluttered to the floor.
Hayes leaned over the desk, his face inches from hers.
"Yes, Ana. You just spent the night with the President of the United States."
Ana felt the blood drain from her face.
Her stomach he heave, and she clamped a hand over her mouth.
She remembered standing in the clinic, telling the most powerful man in the free world that his prostate was failing.
"Oh my god," she groaned, her legs giving out as she collapsed into a chair. "I'm going to lose my license. They're going to send me to Guantanamo."
"And the boy," Hayes continued, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction, "is Leo Raymond. The First Son."
Cold sweat broke out across Ana's back.
She remembered the boy calling her Mommy.
She remembered the men with guns. They weren't mafia thugs. They were the Secret Service.
She jumped up and started pacing the small office, her breathing shallow and rapid.
Hayes watched her panic, a calculated gleam in his eye.
He walked over and handed her a paper cup of water.
"Calm down. You didn't offend him. You saved his son. You are a hero to the First Family."
Ana took a sip, her teeth chattering against the rim of the cup.
"I don't care. I just want to be a urologist. I want nothing to do with the White House."
Hayes's expression darkened.
"Don't be stupid, Ana. You have a golden ticket."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Think about your mother's nursing home bills. Think about your three hundred thousand dollars in student debt."
Ana stopped pacing.
The mention of her mother felt like a knife twisting in her ribs. It was her deepest, most painful vulnerability.
"The boy is attached to you," Hayes whispered, his tone hypnotic. "Use that. Get close to the President. You'll never have to worry about money again."
Ana looked at her mentor, a cold prickle of suspicion running down her spine.
"Why do you care so much if I get close to him?"
Hayes pushed his glasses up his nose again.
"Because the department needs funding. If you have the President's ear, we can secure massive federal grants."
It sounded plausible, but the intense hunger in his eyes made Ana's stomach turn.
Before she could answer, a violent pounding shook the office door.
Alistair Cromwell's panicked voice echoed from the hallway.
"Hayes! Open the door!"
