Stephanie didn't bother heading for Greenvale, where her biological parents lived. Instead, she fired up her motor scooter and made her way back to her real sanctuary.
Pineview Homes looked like any other residential block on the outside, but hidden behind its plain exterior was a world of old secrets. As Stephanie rolled through the entrance, the system scanned her face and let her in without a hitch. Just then, Hugh Curtis, lugging a fishing rod and smelling of river water, spotted her. "Hi, Stephie! I thought you'd vanished for good."
She offered a cheerful wave. "Evening, Hugh."
He caught her scooter by the handlebar, anxious to talk. "You've been gone almost three weeks. My wife's almost out of the medicine you prescribed, and the pills the experts gave me do nothing for my emphysema. But whatever you gave me works like a charm."
Stephanie gave a reassuring nod. "I've updated your treatment plan, so don't worry about a thing."
Everyone around here knew that, despite her age, Stephanie's medical knowledge was unmatched. She could cure ailments even the doctors from the best hospital couldn't handle.
But this was no ordinary neighborhood. Most of the residents had interesting pasts. Hugh, for example, used to be a high-ranking officer in the military.
Parking her motorbike, Stephanie called over her shoulder, "I'll be seeing patients this evening," before heading upstairs to her apartment.
The moment she arrived at her door, a gentle female voice greeted her, saying, "Welcome home."
Her place was a marvel of modern design, sleek and brimming with technology.
She had poured twenty million into making it exactly as she wanted—a masterpiece she was genuinely proud of.
After a quick shower, she was about to unwind with a mobile game when her phone rang. She answered without checking the caller ID.
"Word is you finally cut ties with the Claytons. Two massive orders just landed on our desk. Should we take them?" On the other end, Milly Wheeler, her right-hand woman and trusted assistant, got straight to business.
Stephanie snagged a cold can of cola from the fridge, popped the tab, and muttered, "Alright, let's hear it."
"First up, the Walsh family—richest folks in the nation—just posted a twenty-million-dollar reward for finding their granddaughter, who's been missing for years. They claim she's somewhere in Krarville. Easy money, honestly. It's not life-changing, but it would keep our base running for a month."
A wry smile tugged at Stephanie's lips. "Pass. I'm not interested. What else you got?"
Milly sounded more enthusiastic. "You'll want this one. You've heard the legendary Waylon Elliott, right? He is offering thirty million if you, as the legendary Dr. Clayton, take on a case. He wants the best medical mind, and that's you."
Stephanie's eyes brightened. "Now you have my attention. Give me the details."
"He is a major player in Krarville and has been seen lately with arms dealer Rory Sawyer."
That gave Stephanie pause. "So that's why Rory's been circling me all this time. There's no way I'll let our country's arms market slip into someone else's control. I need to meet this Waylon face to face."
"No kidding! This is a huge opportunity. Still, be aware—he's gathering all sorts of top-tier doctors at the Pearl Hotel for a joint consultation."
Curiosity flickered in Stephanie's eyes. "Why so many doctors? What's the story with the patient?"
"Details are hush-hush, but rumor has it someone close to Waylon is seriously ill. It must be a big deal for him to go this far."
Stephanie took a long drink, savoring the cola's chill. "Count me in. Set it up."
The tougher the case, the more it fueled Stephanie's curiosity. She loved a real challenge—plus, she needed to meet Waylon in person and reclaim her arms business.
The next day dawned bright and early as Stephanie left home on her scooter.
Nearly an hour later, she pulled up at the Pearl Hotel—the priciest address in all of Krarville.
Luxury cars lined up one after another, creating a parade of wealth and status in front of the entrance.
Inside, hotel staff bustled around, while the Elliott family security coordinated the arrival of renowned doctors, socialites, and politicians, all eager to win favor with Waylon.
Stephanie's scooter looked painfully out of place among the polished sedans and gleaming SUVs.
No sooner had she found a parking spot than the lobby manager stormed over, annoyance written all over his face.
"Hey! Who do you think you are, showing up at a place like this? Get lost, will you?"
Stephanie kept her cool, balancing with one foot on the pavement. "I'm a doctor. I'm here for a medical consultation."
"You? Don't make me laugh." The manager burst out laughing, pointing at her in disbelief. "You barely look old enough to vote. There's no way you're a doctor."
Turning toward the entrance, he shouted at the security team, "You two—escort this bumpkin and her scooter out of here right now!"
