Chapter 3 - Ten Minutes Later
Back at St. Jude Memorial Hospital, absolute chaos had erupted within ten minutes of Daphne’s post hitting the web.
Dr. Harrison Vance, the formidable, seventy-year-old hospital director, was sitting in his executive leather chair on the tenth floor, nursing a scotch and reviewing end-of-quarter endowment figures, when his chief of public relations burst through the double doors without knocking.
"Harrison, you need to see this right now," the PR director stammered, his face stark white as he thrust a tablet computer onto the polished mahogany desk.
Harrison frowned, adjusting his reading glasses. "What is this nonsense? I’m in the middle of—"
"Just look at the live engagement metrics, sir."
Harrison looked down at the screen. The video of Dr. Ross Mercer kissing Nurse Talia Brooks in the Level Four parking garage was currently trending locally on three different platforms. It had already crossed two hundred thousand views, attracting hundreds of angry comments from local taxpayers, donors, and ethics committees. Worse still, three major regional news outlets had already tagged the hospital in requests for official comment.
Harrison’s face purpled with sudden, blinding rage. Ross Mercer was the crown jewel of their cardiovascular department, personally responsible for bringing in four million dollars in annual donor funding for the new pediatric wing. A public scandal of this magnitude—involving an executive physician and a subordinate staff member on hospital grounds during an active shift—threatened to blow up the upcoming hospital accreditation review and alienate their primary board benefactors.
"Get Ross on the intercom right now! Bring him to my office immediately!" Harrison roared, slamming his fist against the desk.
Three minutes later, Ross Mercer burst through the director’s office doors. His hair was disheveled, his face drained of all color, and his phone was vibrating so violently he was gripping it like a weapon.
"Harrison, I can explain—it’s out of context, it’s a malicious smear campaign by a disgruntled—"
"Shut your mouth, Ross!" Harrison bellowed, standing up so fast his leather chair rolled back and hit the paneled wall. "Do you have any earthly idea what your little parking lot romance has just done to this institution? The video has two hundred thousand views! The State Medical Board ethics committee chairman just texted my personal cell phone!"
"It was just a harmless—"
"Harmless?!" Harrison shrieked, stabbing a finger toward the tablet. "The woman who posted this isn't some internet troll, Ross! That’s your wife! Look at the caption! She has your car, she has your license plate, she has time-stamped proof of you violating hospital fraternization policies while clocked in for emergency surgical standby!"
Ross staggered backward as if he had been physically struck. His phone buzzed again in his palm. He looked down at the screen, his eyes widening in sheer terror. "She... she posted it from her account. And the local news syndicates are picking it up."
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"You have ten minutes to fix this," Harrison whispered, his voice dropping into a venomous, terrifying hiss. "You call your wife right now. You crawl on your hands and knees. You beg her, you bribe her, you threaten her with whatever legal leverage you possess—I don't give a damn if you have to sign over the deed to your house—but you get her to take that video down before the morning board meeting at eight o'clock, or I will personally strip your surgical license and throw you out of St. Jude with the garbage!"
Ross stood frozen in the center of the plush executive office, his golden-boy career evaporating before his eyes. With trembling fingers, he unlocked his phone, pressed redial on Daphne’s number, and held the device to his ear while the phone rang into the empty air.
