Chapter 5 - THE HOSPITAL KING
Dr. Harrison Weber was a man who believed he was untouchable.
As the Chief of Surgery at Lakeview Memorial Medical Center, he was a celebrity in Chicago's medical community. He appeared on morning talk shows, hosted charity galas, and drove a silver Porsche. He had spent the last three years enjoying the reputation of a brilliant surgeon while secretly building an offshore medical empire built on stolen research and forged clinical trials.
It was 2:00 PM on Tuesday when Harrison walked out of an operating room, stripping off his surgical gloves.
He walked into his corner office on the top floor of Lakeview Memorial, expecting his usual iced latte from his assistant.
Instead, he found two people sitting in his leather armchairs.
One was Dominic Vance. The other was Beatrice Gallagher.
Harrison froze, his surgical mask hanging loosely around his neck. "What is the meaning of this? Who let you in here?" His eyes fell on Beatrice, and a sneer crept across his face. "Beatrice? What are you doing here? Did you break in to beg for your license back?"
Dominic stood up slowly. His height dominated the office, casting a long shadow over Harrison’s desk.
"Dr. Weber," Dominic said smoothly. "You don't remember me, do you?"
Harrison frowned, looking at Dominic's face. "Should I? I see hundreds of patients—"
"Three years ago," Dominic said, stepping closer. "Trauma Bay 4. Gunshot wounds to the chest. You took one look at my blood pressure, said I was a lost cause, and walked out to complete the paperwork so you wouldn't spoil your mortality statistics."
Harrison’s face went pale. "Vance... Dominic Vance."
"That nurse over there stayed," Dominic said, gesturing toward Beatrice. "She saved my life while you were sipping coffee in the lounge."
Harrison swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. He smoothed down his white coat. "Mr. Vance, I appreciate that you survived, but Nurse Gallagher was fired for gross incompetence. She killed Arthur Pendelton by misadministering potassium chloride. It was a tragic mistake, but the hospital board—"
"The hospital board didn't know you forged her signature, Harrison," Beatrice said, standing up to face him.
Harrison chuckled nervously. "That's a ridiculous accusation! The chart had your handwriting!"
Beatrice pulled a thick paper document from her leather bag and set it on his desk.
"This is the forensic handwriting analysis performed by the FBI's top document examiner," Beatrice said, her voice steady and ringing with cold authority. "They analyzed the digital metadata on the electronic chart system from the night Arthur Pendelton died. The entry was logged using your administrative password at 3:14 AM—thirty minutes after I was sent home."
Harrison’s hands began to shake. "That... that proves nothing! My account could have been hacked!"
"We also found the offshore account in the Cayman Islands," Dominic chimed in, his voice like a executioner's blade. "The one where Arthur Pendelton transferred three million dollars before he discovered you were faking the results of your cell-therapy trials. He was going to expose you, Harrison. So you changed his dosage, let him die, and blamed the nurse who noticed the error."
Harrison backed up against his bookshelf, his chest heaving. "You... you can't prove this..."
"I don't need to," Dominic said, taking out his phone. "The Federal Board of Medical Ethics and the Chicago Police Department are downstairs in the lobby right now."
At that exact moment, the office door flew open.
Four police officers and two federal agents stepped into the room, handcuffs glistening under the fluorescent lights.
"Harrison Weber," the lead agent said, stepping forward. "You are under arrest for first-degree murder, medical fraud, and forgery."
Harrison looked wildly around the room, realization crashing down on him like a tidal wave. "Beatrice! Please! Talk to them! We worked together for five years!"
Beatrice looked at the man who had stolen her life, destroyed her health, and forced her into the shadows for three long years.
She walked up to him, looked him straight in the eyes, and said softly:
May you like
"Do not look me in the face, Harrison. Rule number one."
The police slapped the cuffs on his wrists and dragged him out of the office, his screams of protest echoing down the hospital corridor.
