Chapter 4

The next morning, nine thirty. At Rayhill Hospital in Lakeport,

department head Paul Lambert pushed through the sliding glass door of the prep room and walked in.

"Dr. Pruitt, stop scrubbing." Paul looked at the suds swirling down the sink as he spoke. "The ten o'clock case—we're changing the lead surgeon at the last minute. Deputy chief Lee will take over as primary. You'll assist as second."

Sheila did not lift her foot off the pedal.

"That patient's treatment plan is something I've been managing for four months." She kept her eyes on the sterile mirror ahead, her words clear.

"It isn't just this surgery." Paul stepped closer and lowered his voice. "That Phase One clinical trial you spent four years applying for—the committee sent down the notice at eight thirty this morning. The project's been shelved indefinitely."

Sheila lifted her foot off the pedal. The water stopped.

"Secretary Chavez from the president's office at Jetstream Group called the hospital director directly on his internal line." Paul gestured toward the corridor. "Dr. Pruitt, every dollar of this hospital's procurement budget is in Mr. Delgado's hands. The order came down from the top. All of your core work stops."

Sheila pulled three paper towels and dried her hands completely.

She walked out of the prep room and over to the lockers.

She opened her locker, took out her phone, and dialed the eleven-digit number she hadn't called in six years.

Three rings, then someone picked up.

"Cecil Delgado, restore the funding on my clinical trial. And take your hand off my surgical schedule."

Sheila spoke straight into the mic. "Stay out of my life with Earl."

"Four o'clock this afternoon. The lakeside teahouse, private room V03."

Cecil's low voice came through the receiver. "Don't come, and at eight o'clock tomorrow morning Jetstream's legal team will be at your security door, ringing the bell right on time with a thirty-page complaint and an asset valuation report."

The call cut off.

Four o'clock sharp. Room V03 at the lakeside teahouse.

Cecil sat in an armchair to the right of the rosewood tea table, in a suit.

He extended his right hand and slid a bank check made out for "Ten Million Dollars Even" across the table toward Sheila.

"Earl is the eldest grandson of the Delgado family. Next month I'll enroll him at Wellington International School, and for high school he'll transfer straight into Eton College overseas."

Cecil leaned back and looked directly at her. "This check is compensation. Sign the agreement giving up custody, and you not only get your research project back—I'll add another fifty million in targeted research investment."

Sheila didn't look down at the check on the table. She took a voice recorder from her coat pocket, set it in the center of the table, and pressed the red play button.

Lily's threats played back into the room, clear in her own voice.

"That child... has to take the Delgado name... If you don't cooperate, you'll never hold a scalpel again as long as you live. I guarantee there won't be a single hospital in Lakeport where you can stand." The recording ended, and Sheila pressed stop.

"Keep your mother in line. If your lawyers dare set one foot in my home, I'll send a copy of this original recording to the public inboxes of every major media outlet and finance channel in Lakeport at the same time." She slid the recorder back into her pocket and stood.

"Jetstream Medical lists on the Lakeport exchange next Friday. Opening valuation, thirty billion."

Sheila braced both hands on the rosewood table and looked down at him. "A scandal about the group president and majority shareholder using capital to crush a single female doctor and seize custody of her child—that's enough to drop your share price below the offer price on day one and wipe out at least three billion in market value. Trading three billion for one custody case. Mr. Delgado, you can run the numbers yourself."

She turned, pulled open the wooden door, and walked out.

Eight twenty at night. Sublevel two of Rayhill Hospital, outside the medical records archive.

Sheila sat at the computer terminal in the corridor.

She slid a silver flash drive into the USB port, ready to back up the day's audio file to her personal cloud.

Two night-shift nurses from obstetrics pushed a dressing cart down the corridor.

"Jessica Swanson came in for another ultrasound in our department this afternoon." The nurse on the left lowered her voice to her companion. "I heard she was pregnant once, six years back, but something went wrong at thirty-three weeks and she lost the baby. She's been on medication for six years since, and she still hasn't gotten pregnant again."

"But that was over eight months along." The nurse on the right shook her head. "If the weight was good, a preemie can go straight into an incubator and survive. How could she have lost it?"

The two nurses pushed the cart on, their voices fading at the end of the corridor.

Sheila's right hand froze halfway to the mouse.

She turned her head, her gaze settling on the desk calendar in the top right corner of the desk.

Six years ago. The moment Jessica had that "accident."

Sheila pulled a timeline up in her mind and worked backward.

The time Jessica went into the delivery room fell exactly thirty days before Earl's due date.

And in that same stretch, Cecil and Jessica had been married less than seven months.