"You heard."
"Lawrence keeps me informed." His voice was calm. Controlled. The voice of a man who'd spent thirty years navigating corporate warfare. "The Langs are getting desperate."
"It doesn't feel like a good sign. It feels like people I care about are being threatened because of me."
"People you care about are being threatened because the Langs are criminals who believe money makes them untouchable." Charles's tone sharpened. "This isn't your fault, Ava. You reported a crime. Everything that's happened since is on them."
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe everyone who kept telling me this wasn't my fault.
But it was hard to believe that when Maya's daughter's name was being used as a weapon.
"I'm going to make some calls," Charles continued. "Increase pressure on the DA's office. The faster this moves to trial, the less time the Langs have to intimidate witnesses." A pause. "I'm also tightening security around you. The detail I arranged will be more visible. I want the Langs to know you’re protected.”
"Dad—"
"This isn't negotiable." His voice softened, just slightly. "You're my daughter. I failed to protect you for fourteen yearsbecause I was too proud to admit I was wrong. I'm not failing again."
I didn't know what to say to that. The old anger was still there, buried deep, but it was harder to access now. Harder to hold onto when he was showing up in ways he never had before.
"Okay," I said finally. "Thank you."
"Stay safe, Ava. We're going to win this."
He hung up. I sat on my bed, trying to convince myself he was right.
I buried myself in work after that.
The ER was its usual chaos—a steady stream of broken bones, chest pains, lacerations, overdoses. I moved through it on autopilot, letting the familiar rhythm carry me. Start an IV. Order labs. Consult surgery. Move on.
But underneath the routine, a new fear had taken root.
Every time the ambulance bay doors swung open, my heart seized. When I heard the paramedics calling out vitals, I braced myself. I kept waiting—dreading—the moment I'd see a familiar face on one of those gurneys. Shane. Garrett. Rodriguez.
Brian.
They're fine,I told myself.They're being careful. Nothing's going to happen.
But the Langs had already proven they could reach anyone. Shane's family. Garrett's car. Maya was at her school. The threats were mounting, and I couldn't shake the feeling that worse was coming.
Three hours into my shift, I was suturing a laceration. Routine. Automatic. The kind of work I could do in my sleep. Then Dr. Park appeared in the doorway.
"Rothwell. You need to come to Trauma 2."
Something in his voice made my hands go still.
"I'm in the middle of?—"
"Dr. Palmer can finish. You need to come now."
I handed off the suture kit, stripped my gloves, and followed Park down the hallway. My heart was pounding. Park didn't pull attendings off patients without good reason.
"What's going on?"
Park didn't answer. Just kept walking, his face carefully blank.
We reached Trauma 2. The curtain was drawn. I could hear voices inside—nurses, the familiar sounds of assessment and triage.
Park stopped. Looked at me.
