Sarah’s hand clenched into a fist at her side. Yes, business. Emmes snapped. Just like this is business. St. Jude’s needs to cut costs. My company provides cost-effective solutions. We save the hospital millions if a few prosthetics crack if a few wheelchairs break. That’s the price of keeping the doors open. We are saving the system. You’re killing people, Sarah said.
Just like you killed my squad. Sterling stood up. That is enough. You are fired, Mitchell. Get out of this building before I have you arrested. Emmes held up a hand. No, wait. She knows too much, Frederick. We can’t just fire her. Emmes walked around the desk opening a drawer. Sarah saw the glint of metal. It wasn’t a gun.
It was a letter opener, but he held it like a shiv. You have no proof, Emmes said softly. It’s your word against a respected CEO and a chief of surgery. Who are they going to believe? The hero nurse with a history of trauma. We can have you committed Sarah. We can say you had a breakdown, attacked us. He took a step toward her.
You should have died in that ditch. Ems hissed. Sarah didn’t flinch. She smiled. a cold, terrifying smile. “I did die in that ditch,” she said. “That’s why I’m not afraid of you.” She pulled her phone out of her scrub pocket. The screen was glowing red. Recording 0412. Ems froze. He looked at the phone, then at Sarah.
“I’ve been recording since I walked in,” Sarah said. “The cloud sync is on. Colonel Graves has the file already and he’s friends with a very aggressive reporter at the Seattle Times. Emmes lunged. It was a mistake. Sarah didn’t brawl. She reacted. As Emmes thrust the letter opener toward her, she sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, and used his own momentum against him.
She twisted his arm behind his back with a sickening crack and slammed his face into the mahogany desk. Emmes screamed. Sterling shrieked and cowered in the corner. Sarah leaned down, whispering into Emmes’s ear as she pinned him. That was for Tex. The door burst open. Security guards rushed in, alerted by the noise.
But behind them, leaning heavily on a pair of crutches, wearing a hospital gown, and looking like the wrath of God, was Colonel Silas Graves. He had dragged himself out of bed. He had dragged himself up the stairs. “Don’t touch her,” Graves roared at the guards. He looked at Ems, pinned to the desk.
Officer Graves said to the security lead, pointing at Emmes, “Call the police. I am Colonel Silas Graves, USMC, and I am placing this man under arrest for treason and conspiracy to commit murder.” The arrest of Robert Emmes and Dr. Frederick Sterling didn’t happen quietly. It happened with the kind of noise that shakes institutions to their foundations.
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