“Sign it, son,” Alistair urges, checking his own watch. “It’s just a bus crash. The staff will handle it. That’s what we pay them for.”
That’s what we pay them for.
The words hit me like a physical slap. They think they are paying for a service. They don't know they are paying for pieces of our souls.
“No,” I say.
Alistair blinks. “Excuse me?”
I drop the Montblanc pen. It hits the mahogany table with a sharpclack.
“I’m not signing it,” I say.
I reach up and undo my tie. I pull it off and drop it on top of the folder.
“Preston, what are you doing?” Alistair demands, his face reddening. “The vote is a formality! You can’t back out now!”
“Cancel the vote,” I say, stripping off my suit jacket. “I resign from the Foundation. I resign from the Board.”
“You can’t just leave!” Alistair shouts, standing up. “We have an agenda! This is a crisis meeting now! We have to manage the fallout!”
“You’re right,” I say, unbuttoning my collar and rolling up my sleeves. “It is a crisis. There are people dying on that bridge. And I’m a doctor.”
I look at Max.
“Max,” I say. “I’m going downstairs.”
Max lets out a breath he’s been holding. A slow, proud grin breaks through his stoic mask. He nods once.
“Go,” Max orders. “Triage is going to be a nightmare. They need hands.”
“Understood, Chief.”
“Preston!” Alistair yells, pointing a trembling finger at the door. “If you walk out that door, you are walking away from everything! You are walking away from the legacy!”
I pause at the door. I look back at the plush carpet, the sparkling water, and the men who worry about traffic while the city burns.
“No, Father,” I say. “I’m walking toward it.”
I kick the door open.
I run for the stairs. The elevator is too slow.
I have a shift to get to.
Chapter 16
Triage
PRESTON
The difference between a Boardroom and a Trauma Bay is the noise.
Upstairs, silence is a currency. Down here, silence means someone is dead.
Max and I hit the double doors of the ER at a sprint. The scene inside is pure, unadulterated havoc. It is a canvas painted in red and adrenaline. Stretchers are lined up three deep in the hallway. Nurses are shouting vitals. The floor is slick with things I don't want to think about.
And the smell. Copper, diesel fuel, and fear.
