The Press Conference
Forty-eight hours later, the atrium of St. Jude’s Medical Center was packed with news cameras. Dr. Alcott stood at a podium in a crisp suit, his hair perfectly styled.
“Nurse Rachel Bennett was troubled,” Alcott said smoothly. “When I terminated her employment, she snapped and abducted Captain Thorne. Given his condition, it’s unlikely he survived.”
The cameras flashed. Alcott smiled smugly. He’d spun the narrative perfectly. The cartel money was already in his offshore account.
“Are there any further questions?” he asked.
“I have one.”
A deep voice boomed from the back. Heads turned. Cameras swung.
The automatic doors opened.
Captain Elias Thorne walked in wearing his full dress blue uniform, purple heart gleaming on his chest. He walked with a cane, favoring his left leg, his arm in a sling, but his posture was upright and commanding.
The crowd gasped.
To his right walked General Higgins. To his left walked Rachel Bennett—no handcuffs, no scrubs, just a simple blazer. She had a healing cut on her forehead and bruises on her cheek. She didn’t look down. She stared straight at the podium.
Alcott’s face drained of color. “Security! Arrest that woman!”
“Stand down!” General Higgins roared.
Elias climbed the stage and stood beside Alcott. “Dr. Alcott claims I was kidnapped. He claims Nurse Bennett is incompetent.” He looked at Rachel. “The truth is, Rachel Bennett is the only reason I’m breathing. And Dr. Alcott didn’t just fire her. He tried to sell me.”
Shock rippled through the room.
“That’s a lie!” Alcott screamed.
Elias pulled out a digital recorder recovered from the assassin. He pressed play.
Static hissed, followed by Alcott’s unmistakable voice: “The nurse is a problem. Kill him. Kill the nurse. I want the remaining two million wired to the Cayman account.”
Absolute silence.
Rachel stepped onto the stage and looked Alcott in the eye. “You violated your oath. First, do no harm. You sold a soldier’s life for a paycheck.”
General Higgins nodded. “Federal agents, take him.”
Six FBI agents swarmed the stage, slamming Alcott against the podium he’d just been preaching from. As handcuffs clicked around his wrists, Alcott wept, shouting about lawyers and tenure.
Rachel watched him being dragged away, his heels skidding on the polished floor.
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