From Street Trash To Dragon Lord

_7_

Sophia stood frozen, both hands pressed over her mouth. Her eyes were wide with horror, locked on her father's failing body.

Marcus exploded.

"HE'S DEAD!" His voice cracked with fury and grief. "That bastard killed him!"

He spun toward the guards restraining Ethan. "Take him to prison! NOW! I want him charged with murder!"

The guards yanked Ethan toward the door. His feet dragged across the polished floor, but his expression never changed. Blank. Calm. Unreadable.

"Move!" One guard shoved him hard between the shoulder blades.

Richard stumbled after them, phone shaking in his hand. "I'm calling our lawyers. He'll rot in prison for this."

The VIP suite doors burst open.

A man in his sixties strode through, gray hair perfectly styled, wearing an expensive suit under his white coat. Two assistants flanked him carrying medical equipment.

Doctor Heinrich Volkov. The most celebrated physician in the country. He had treated presidents and royalty.

Marcus's head snapped up. "Doctor Volkov! Thank God you're here!"

He rushed toward the renowned physician, grabbing his arm desperately. "Please, you have to save my father! That fraud did something to him, his vitals crashed, we need you immediately!"

Volkov's sharp eyes took in the chaotic scene. The flatlined monitors. The crash cart. The terrified staff. The patriarch lying motionless.

"Everyone step back," he commanded.

The staff obeyed instantly, clearing space around the bed.

Volkov approached Thomas Ashford with measured steps. He placed two fingers on the old man's neck, checking for pulse. Then leaned close, listening to his breathing.

His assistants began connecting portable monitoring equipment.

Marcus hovered beside him. "Can you save him? Please tell me you can reverse whatever that charlatan did."

Sophia finally moved, stepping closer. Her hands had dropped from her mouth but trembled at her sides.

Richard stood in the doorway, blocking the guards from taking Ethan any further. "Wait. Let's see what Doctor Volkov says first."

Volkov straightened slowly.

"His vitals are perfect."

Silence crashed through the room.

"What?" Marcus leaned forward. "That's impossible. The monitors were screaming, his heart stopped, we saw it!"

Volkov pulled a small penlight from his pocket, checked Thomas's pupils. Then pressed his stethoscope to the old man's chest, listening intently.

"Heart rate steady at 72 beats per minute. Blood pressure 118 over 76. Oxygen saturation 98 percent. Lung sounds clear." He moved the stethoscope lower. "Liver function..." He paused, frowning. "Liver sounds completely healthy."

Doctor Chen pushed forward. "That's medically impossible! He had stage four Crimson Rot Syndrome! His liver was 90 percent necrotic!"

Volkov's eyes narrowed. He turned to his assistants. "Run a full metabolic panel. Now."

They inserted a needle, drew blood, fed it into a portable analysis machine.

Two minutes of agonizing silence.

The machine beeped. Results displayed on screen.

Volkov stared at the numbers. His face went pale.

"Every marker is normal. No disease. No cancer. No infection." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Who treated this man?"

At that exact moment, Thomas Ashford's eyes snapped open.

Everyone froze and shock waves peeled through the halls.