Chapter 8 - The Poisoned Toast
"Dr. Miller," the ICU fellow said, his voice shaking with awe. "The bleeding has slowed, but it hasn't stopped. The pericardium will refill within thirty minutes. We need to open his chest."
"We can't do a full sternotomy in an ICU bay without knowing the source of the rupture," I replied, stripping off my bloody gloves. "Get him to the main OR. Set up a cardiopulmonary bypass pump on standby. I want cell-saver suction, six units of packed red blood cells, and four units of fresh frozen plasma."
"Right away, Doctor!"
The surgical team, which ten minutes ago had looked at me with scorn, was now moving with the precision of a military platoon under my direct orders.
I walked out of Trauma Bay 1.
The moment the automatic doors slid open, Dr. Raymond Sterling broke free from the police officer's grasp. He didn't look at Arthur. He looked straight at me, his eyes wild and dangerous.
"You have committed a federal felony, Sarah," Sterling hissed, his voice trembling with venomous rage. "You used military authority to usurp a private hospital. You performed an invasive cardiac procedure without privileges! That fluid—you contaminated it! You orchestrated this entire spectacle to rehabilitate your pathetic, ruined reputation!"
"Shut your mouth, Raymond," Arthur Vance growled, rising from the floor.
Arthur’s eyes were bloodshot, his tuxedo shirt torn at the collar, but the weakness in his posture was gone. He looked at his lifelong friend and business partner with sudden, terrifying clarity.
"Arthur, don't listen to her!" Sterling urged, taking a step toward him. "She was imprisoned for negligence! She’s an unstable pariah who—"
"Why did you cancel the toxicology screen, Raymond?" Arthur asked, his voice dead and cold.
Sterling froze. "What?"
"I heard the young doctor," Arthur said, stepping closer to Sterling until they were inches apart. "Julian collapsed at my country club. At his wedding. You arrived at the hospital before the ambulance even got here. And the very first thing you did was cancel the comprehensive toxicology panel. Why?"
"It was an unnecessary expense! It was obvious he had an allergic reaction—"
"Julian has never had a peanut allergy in his life," Arthur stated flatly.
The corridor went ice cold.
Sterling blinked, his tongue darting across his dry lips. "Of... of course he does. You told me yourself years ago—"
"No, Raymond," Arthur said, his voice dropping to a horrifying whisper. "Julian's cousin had the allergy. Not Julian. You’ve known my son since he was four years old. You were his godfather. How could you possibly mistake his medical history?"
"I—I was under immense stress! The shock of seeing him—"
"Where was Julian twenty minutes before he collapsed?" I interrupted, stepping between them.
Arthur turned to me, his eyes wide. "He was in the VIP groom's suite. Having a private toast."
"With whom?" I asked.
May you like
Arthur’s gaze slowly drifted back to Raymond Sterling.
"With Raymond," Arthur whispered. "Just the two of them. Raymond brought a vintage bottle of 1945 Armagnac from his
