Ex-Fiancé's Greed vs. Doctor's Justice

Fourteen hours. My back ached, my fingers cramped, but little Elena Rodriguez had a new heart and a future ahead of her. I rolled my shoulders as I stepped away from the operating table, allowing myself a small smile of satisfaction as the monitors showed strong, steady beats.

"Excellent work as always, Dr. Powell," Marcus Chen said, his eyes crinkling above his surgical mask. "That valve reconstruction was nothing short of miraculous."

I nodded, too exhausted for false modesty. "The new technique is proving more effective than I'd hoped. Once we publish the results—"

The OR door swung open, and Nurse Patel poked her head in. Her expression made my stomach drop.

"Dr. Powell, Mr. Meyer has been looking for you. The quarterly meeting started two hours ago."

The meeting. I closed my eyes briefly. "Tell him I'm still in surgery with Elena. Her parents have been waiting since dawn."

"He knows. He said to remind you that attendance was mandatory."

I glanced at the clock: 2:17 PM. The meeting had started at noon, but Elena's transplant had taken longer than anticipated. What was I supposed to do—abandon a child on the operating table for a budget review?

"I'll speak with him as soon as I talk to Elena's family," I said, stripping off my gloves. "Marcus, can you handle the post-op notes?"

He nodded, understanding in his eyes. We both knew what Bridger was like when his authority was challenged.

Elena's parents embraced me in the waiting room, their gratitude a temporary shield against what awaited me. I explained the procedure, the recovery process, the promising prognosis. Their tears of relief almost made me forget the storm brewing elsewhere in the hospital.

Almost.

I was halfway to Bridger's office when I spotted the security guard approaching, his face uncomfortably rigid.

"Dr. Powell," he said, extending an envelope. "I've been instructed to deliver this to you personally."

The paper was heavy, expensive—Bridger's preferred stationery. I tore it open right there in the hallway, aware of curious eyes watching.

*Dr. Kimber Powell is hereby suspended for three days without pay for insubordination and failure to attend mandatory hospital functions. All surgical procedures will be reassigned during this period.*

Heat rushed to my face. Six years I'd given to this hospital. Six years of groundbreaking surgeries, research that had put Meyer Medical on the map. And this was how he responded to my saving a child's life?

"I need to speak with Mr. Meyer," I said, already moving toward the elevator.

The guard stepped in front of me. "I'm sorry, Dr. Powell. Mr. Meyer instructed that you're to leave the premises immediately."

In the stunned silence that followed, I became acutely aware of the whispers, the stares. Nurses I'd worked alongside for years, doctors who'd consulted on my cases—all witnessing my public humiliation.

"Fine," I said, my voice steady despite the rage building inside me. "I'll return when my suspension is complete."

Three days. Three days to cool off, to remember why