He let out a short, dry chuckle.
"Well," Derek said, his voice projecting easily without a microphone. "That was quite a performance. Truly."
Mac's entire body tensed, his jaw locked so tight Cole could hear his teeth grinding. He surged forward, his hands balling into fists, murder written plain across his face.
Cole moved fast, planting his hand firmly against Mac's chest, his fingers gripping the fabric of his friend's shirt. "Don't," Cole said. "That's exactly what he wants."
Mac pushed against Cole's hand, his muscles coiled. "Let me go," he growled.
"No." Cole shifted his weight, ready to physically restrain Mac if needed. "You hit him, he wins. Stay."
Mac's breathing was ragged, his eyes locked on Derek. But he stopped pushing. His fists stayed clenched at his sides.
Derek turned to the Mayor, looking more disappointed than threatened.
"Mayor Henderson, I assumed this was a serious forum for professional discourse," Derek said, gesturing vaguely at the screen where the timeline of his past suspension still glowed. "This is a charming PowerPoint, really. But let's be adults here. These are misinterpreted administrative notes from a decade ago and the emotional recollections of an unstable ex."
A low murmur of anger rippled through the room, but Derek talked right over it, his tone smooth as glass.
"And Rachel has always had a vivid imagination," he said, sparing her a glance that was almost fond, in a sickly way. "It's a symptom of her trauma, which I have always tried to treat with compassion. As for the photos? I was checking my messages while waiting for a table. If that is 'stalking' in Vermont, I suppose I should be careful not to look at my watch too aggressively."
He shook his head, buttoning his jacket.
"I came here to help elevate your standards," he said to the room at large. "But I see now that this town prefers gossip to science. It's unfortunate, really. I expected better."
He reached for his briefcase, dismissing them all.
"Dr. Matthews," Mayor Henderson's voice boomed from the stage. It wasn't angry. It was final.
Derek paused, looking back with an eyebrow raised. "Yes, Bill?"
"I think you should look at your phone," the Mayor said.
Derek frowned, just a fraction. "Excuse me?"
"I have been on the line with the Commissioner of theVermont Hockey League for the last twenty minutes," Mayor Henderson said, holding up his own cell phone. "He was watching the livestream. He has also been in contact with the Massachusetts Medical Board regarding your failure to disclose that previous suspension on your consultation application."
For the first time, the color drained from Derek's face. The boredom vanished.
"As of two minutes ago," the Mayor continued, his voice echoing in the silent hall, "the League has formally revoked your consultation status. You are barred from all team facilities effective immediately. Furthermore, the Boston Sports Medicine Center has been notified of the breach of ethics. They are issuing a press release within the hour distancing themselves from you."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy anymore. It was electric.
Derek froze. His hand hovered over his pocket, but he didn't pull out his phone. He didn't need to. He could see the truth in the Mayor's face.
It wasn't Rachel's story that broke him. It wasn't the town's anger. It was the realization that his armor, his credentials, his status, his power, had just been stripped away. He wasn't the expert in the room anymore. He was a liability.
Mac watched as the arrogance in Derek's eyes flickered, cracked, and then hardened into something cold and ugly.
Derek didn't shout. He didn't lunge at anyone. He straightened his tie, lifting his chin to look down his nose at the room one last time.
"Fine," Derek said. "If you prefer unqualified cheerleaders to medical professionals, that is your choice."
He picked up his briefcase. He looked at Rachel, not with rage, but with total, icy indifference.
"You people deserve your mediocrity," he said.
He turned and walked up the center aisle. The crowd didn't yell; they just parted, pulling back from him like he wassomething contagious. The sound of his expensive Italian loafers clicking against the linoleum floor was the only noise in the room.
