Chapter 16 - The Storm in the Pediatric Ward
Richard’s face drained of color as he stared at the small metal drive sitting in the puddle of ink.
"What did you do?" he whispered, his voice cracking with a sudden tremor of dread.
"Under federal medical emergency provisions, public university laboratories can replicate and synthesize patented formulas if an artificial shortage threatens neonatal life," I said, my voice cutting through the room like a surgical blade.
"Chief Margaret Walsh and the state attorney general filed the emergency synthesis waiver three hours ago while Victoria was busy parading through our NICU."
Victoria sprang to her feet, her champagne glass shattering on the hardwood floor.
"That's illegal! Those formulations belong exclusively to Whitlow-Caldwell Therapeutics!"
"They belonged to Caldwell until your board committed securities fraud by intentionally restricting distribution to fabricate a synthetic crisis," I countered, staring down the trembling attorneys.
"The FBI's healthcare fraud division received a full digital copy of your board’s private communications twenty minutes ago."
"You played your final hand, Richard."
"And you lost everything."
Without waiting for a response, I turned my back on the empire of deceit and walked out of the library.
My father’s furious, incoherent screams echoed down the vaulted hallway, swallowed by the roaring storm outside.
I sprinted through the pouring rain to my car, my hands shaking on the steering wheel as I jammed the key into the ignition.
My phone began buzzing incessantly on the passenger seat.
I hit the speaker button, pulling out of the gravel driveway as fast as the tires would grip.
"Sebastian! You need to get to the hospital immediately!" Rowan’s frantic voice cried through the speaker over the blaring sound of medical alarms.
"What happened, Rowan? Are you safe?"
"A critical transport just arrived from upstate—a premature baby girl at twenty-four weeks gestation!"
"Her lungs are completely collapsed, and her tracheoesophageal passage is obstructed!"
"Our senior pediatric surgeon is stranded on the interstate due to the flooding!"
"I'm scrubbing in right now, but I can't perform the tracheal reconstruction alone!"
My heart leaped into my throat, all thoughts of corporate warfare vanishing instantly beneath the instinct of a physician.
"I'm ten minutes away, Rowan," I shouted into the phone, flooring the gas pedal through the blinding rain.
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"Prep the neonatal surgical suite and get the high-frequency ventilator ready!"
"I'm coming!"
