Chapter 210
[ 491 words ]
Chapter 210:
She did not offer a frantic excuse. She delivered a tactical report.
“The emergency department received a mass casualty alert from a multi-vehicle collision on the interstate,” Caroline stated. “I was required to complete the stabilization and transfer of two critical patients before I could legally hand over my station.”
The General let out a short, cold scoff. He placed the gold watch on the desk and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the wood, lacing his gnarled fingers together.
“And you believe the lives of a few careless civilian drivers are more important than the time of this family?” the General asked.
It was a lethal trap. If she said yes, she was insulting the Romero bloodline. If she said no, she was admitting she was a sycophant willing to let people die for a meeting.
The corner of Caroline’s mouth twitched upward into a microscopic, freezing smile. She did not step into the trap. She pulled out her own weapon.
“Death does not respect social calendars, General,” Caroline replied, holding his gaze without flinching. “As a medical professional, my absolute duty is to fight the clock when a patient is bleeding out.”
She paused for exactly one second, letting the words hang in the air.
“If you consider my adherence to basic medical ethics to be an insult to your family,” Caroline added, her voice dropping a fraction of an octave, “then I will take full responsibility for that offense.”
The air in the study instantly froze.
By the door, Finch’s spine snapped completely rigid. His muscles locked. He braced himself for the General to explode. No one spoke to Augustus Romero like that. It was a polite, razor-sharp slap to the face.
𝗧𝘩o𝗎𝘴a𝗻𝘥ѕ о𝖿 𝗋eа𝖽𝘦𝗋𝘴 о𝘯 𝘨𝖺𝗹ո𝗼v𝘦𝗹ѕ.𝗰𝗼𝗆
The General stared at her. The silence stretched until it felt like a rubber band about to snap.
Then his eyes shifted. The hostility cracked. A microscopic flash of genuine, grudging respect appeared in the cloudy blue irises.
He had expected Jarrod to bring home a weak, crying gold digger. He had expected to crush her in three minutes. But the woman standing in front of him had a psychological titanium spine.
The General leaned back into his heavy leather chair, raised his right hand, and pointed a single finger at the dark red leather guest chair positioned across the desk.
“Sit down,” the General ordered. The hostility was gone, replaced by a heavy, evaluating weight.
Caroline did not say thank you. She unclasped her hands, stepped forward, pulled the heavy chair back, and sat down. She kept her knees perfectly together, resting her hands lightly on her thighs. Her posture remained flawless.
The first round of the psychological war was over. Caroline had held the line. The General was now ready to begin the real interrogation.
The leather of the guest chair was freezing cold against the back of Caroline’s thighs. She sat perfectly still, feeling the chill seep through her cheap denim jeans. Her brain was operating at maximum capacity, processing the shift in the General’s posture.
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