Page 24 of Ten Day Affair
Kip nods slowly, jaw clenched. “If it’s true, it’s already in motion.”
Down the hallway, my mother’s portrait watches from the wall. She's still smiling, still expectant, but I know she wouldn't be if she heard this buzz. My stomach twists.
"This hospital has always been about accessibility in the middle of a wealthy enclave. It's meant to serve people regardless of income. And now they want to make it a hospital for the rich only?"
Kip nods sympathetically. "Yeah, the traditional hospital model is becoming less and less lucrative for big money donors. It's not profitable enough."
My hands form tight fists at my sides, nails digging intomy palms. "This hospital isn't supposed to be about profit. That's not what hospitals are supposed to be."
The clicking of purpose-driven heels against linoleum cuts our conversation short. Dr. Grimaldi approaches, her dark ponytail swinging with each precise step. Her espresso eyes narrow as she takes us in.
"Less gossip, more work, Doctors." Her gaze lingers on me, searching for weakness.
"Yes, ma'am," Kip answers.
"Taylor, your post-op notes from yesterday are incomplete. Fix them before you scrub in today."
I straighten my spine. "Will do."
"Oh, how's the patient in the ICU?”
"It turned out to be a machine malfunction. All good."
"Right-o."
She holds my gaze a beat longer before continuing down the hall, her white coat billowing behind her like a battle flag.
"God, she terrifies me," Kip whispers once she's out of earshot.
But I'm not listening anymore. Something has shifted inside me, like tectonic plates realigning. All these years trying to be just Sam, not Samuel Taylor's daughter, not Evelyn Taylor's legacy, suddenly seem trite.
"I've spent years trying to escape my family's shadow here. But I'll be damned if I let some profit-hungry corporation destroy what my mother built."
Kip blinks at me. "So what are you going to do about it?"
I pull out my phone, my fingers steady with newfound purpose, and text Arden.
Need your crisis management skills. Family legacy under attack.
SIX
Cole
My office view rivals any Manhattan penthouse, but all I see is the quarterly projection that's killing my laptop screen. A blizzard of numbers that usually brings clarity now blurs beneath the weight of exhaustion and distraction.
My intercom crackles. "The board is waiting in your virtual meeting room, Mr. Houston."
I roll my neck, feeling vertebrae crack in sequence. "Thank you, Angela."
Ten faces materialize on my wall display, all wearing the careful expressions of men who have both everything and nothing to lose. I recognize the look. I've perfected it myself.
"Gentlemen." I settle into my chair, deliberately relaxed while I scan their faces. "Let's not waste time."
Lawrence Pratt, our CFO with his signature worried expression, clears his throat. “Cole, Q3 projections are coming in softer than expected. We’re tracking a fifteen percent downturn across several southeastern developments.”
“Which ones?” I ask, not looking up from the spreadsheet I’m reviewing. I already have a guess.
“The Miami high-rise and the Charleston mixed-use site are the two biggest underperformers.” He adjusts his tie, a tell that makes Marcus Cavanaugh shift in his seat.
