Chapter 95
[ 495 words ]
Chapter 95:
She threw the napkins in the trash and walked out of the break room, heading toward the stairwell. She had survived the HR interview. She had survived Melanie’s provocation. Now she just needed to get out of this hospital before the fragile ceasefire shattered.
At two o’clock in the afternoon, Caroline was sitting on the worn sofa in her apartment, still in the clean jeans and sweater she had changed into after the coffee incident that morning. The stain on her old coat had been stubborn, and she had scrubbed her hands raw trying to get it out, but at least her skin had only been pink and tender, not blistered. She had been told to stay away from the hospital on mandated leave, and she had every intention of obeying that order until the gala.
Her phone buzzed. Not the encrypted one. Her standard hospital phone.
ѕ𝗍о𝗿𝗶𝖾𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝗐о𝘯’𝘁 𝗉𝘂𝗍 𝗱𝗈w𝗻 oո 𝗴𝖺𝘭𝘯𝗼𝘷𝗲l𝘀.c𝗼𝘮
“Intern Nurse Caroline Thompson. Please report to Dr. Alistair Cromwell’s office in the administrative wing immediately.”
Caroline stared at the screen. Her tactical brain instantly recognized the shift in the wind. She was being summoned. The fragile ceasefire had shattered.
She grabbed a light jacket from the hook by the door, pulled on her flat shoes, and headed out.
Twenty minutes later, she was walking down the sterile corridor of the administrative wing. The floor was quieter than the clinical wards, but the tension was palpable. A clerk at a desk glanced up at her and quickly looked away.
Caroline pushed open the heavy oak door without knocking.
The air inside the office was thick with stale coffee and bureaucratic dread.
Dr. Cromwell sat behind his massive mahogany desk. But he did not look angry. He looked deeply, profoundly uncomfortable. His tie was loosened, and a faint sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. The memory of Jarrod Romero standing in this very office, shredding a termination letter and threatening to destroy his career, was clearly still fresh in his mind.
Sitting in the chair directly across from him was Melanie. Her right arm was strapped tightly against her chest in a thick, bright white medical sling. The sling looked brand new, the Velcro straps still stiff and unused. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she clutched a crumpled tissue in her free hand. Tammy stood behind her chair, one hand resting protectively on Melanie’s good shoulder.
When the door opened, Melanie let out a theatrical flinch and shrank back into her seat, her eyes wide with manufactured terror.
“Thank you for coming in, Miss Thompson,” Cromwell said, his voice strained and far too polite for the occasion. “Please, have a seat. Close the door behind you.”
Caroline calmly pushed the door shut. She did not sit. She stood behind the empty leather chair, her hands resting lightly on the back of it. Her posture was relaxed but watchful.
Cromwell cleared his throat. He glanced at a manila folder open on his desk, then back at Caroline, his expression twitching between obligation and self-preservation.
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