The Amazing Doctor Sterling

Chapter 3

"Dr. Sterling!"

George turned around in the corridor. Elena Maxwell was walking rapidly toward him, surrounded by two private security guards. Her eyes were red from crying, but her posture was rigid and proud.

"Miss Maxwell," George said softly. "Your father is in the recovery ward. The graft took perfectly. He should regain consciousness within six hours."

Elena stopped in front of him. She took a deep breath, looking at George with profound gratitude. "I watched from the gallery, Dr. Sterling. Dr. Dean was ready to let my father die on that table. You didn't hesitate. You saved his life."

She reached into her designer handbag, pulled out a sleek, embossed black card, and placed it into George’s hand.

"My family does not forget a debt," Elena said, her voice serious. "This is my personal line. If you ever need anything in this city,legal, financial, or otherwise,call that number. The Maxwell Group owes you everything."

"Thank you, Miss Maxwell," George said, slipping the card into his scrub pocket. "Just make sure your father rests."

As Elena walked away toward the ICU, George heard the familiar, sickening sound of high heels clicking against the polished floor.

"George! Baby!"

Tiffany came walking down the hallway. She was wearing a cream-colored silk blouse and a tight skirt, her hair styled perfectly. She looked like the devoted, doting wife. Right behind her walked Vincent, who had already changed out of his scrubs into a tailored gray suit.

Tiffany ran up to George and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

George stood completely rigid. The smell of her lavender perfume,the same perfume she had worn when she watched Vincent choke him,made his stomach turn. It took every ounce of his self-control not to push her away.

"I just heard what happened!" Tiffany beamed, pulling back to look at his face. "The nurses are calling you a miracle worker! I am so proud of you, darling!"

"Yes, truly impressive work in there, George," Vincent said, offering a tight, forced smile. "You got lucky with that posterior wall."

"Luck has nothing to do with medicine, Vincent," George said flatly.

Tiffany giggled, touching George’s chest playfully. "Oh, don't be so serious, George! Tonight is a night to celebrate! Vincent was just saying that we should have a private toast before the charity mixer begins tonight."

Here it comes.

George looked at his wife’s eyes. They were wide, bright, and completely false.

"A toast?" George asked.

"Yes!" Tiffany said. "Vincent rented a private VIP suite on the fourth floor of the Grand Celestial Hotel,Suite 402. Just the three of us, right before the main event downstairs. A toast to the best surgeon in the city!"

In his previous life, George had been so flattered and exhausted that he had agreed immediately. He had walked into Suite 402, accepted a glass of expensive red wine from Vincent’s hand, and swallowed it without a second thought. Within fifteen minutes, the room had started spinning.

"What time?" George asked calmly.

"Eight o'clock," Vincent said, watching George closely. "Don't be late, man. I bought a bottle of 2010 Bordeaux just for you."

"I wouldn't miss it," George said.

He walked past them toward the doctors' locker room. Once inside, he didn't change into his suit immediately. He sat down on the bench and pulled out his phone.

He needed to know how the trap had been built.

Six months ago, after he was arrested, the hospital ethics board had presented a witness,a twenty-two-year-old female patient named Clara Vance. Clara had claimed that George had invited her to Room 304, drugged her, and assaulted her. The FBI drug test had found a synthetic sedative in George's bloodstream,a drug commonly used in hospital psychiatric wards.

George stood up and walked down the back stairs to the hospital's central pharmacy.

Because he was the Chief of Surgery, the attending pharmacist nodded to him respectfully. "Dr. Sterling. Can I help you with something?"

"I need to check the controlled substance log for the psychiatric ward over the last forty-eight hours," George said smoothly. "I suspect a dosage discrepancy on one of my post-op patients."

"Of course, Doctor."

The pharmacist turned the ledger around. George scanned the columns rapidly.

There it was.

Dr. Vincent Dean , Authorized Withdrawal: Lorazepam / Triazolam Compound (Liquid Solution) , 10mg.

Vincent hadn't even tried to hide it. He had used his own staff ID to pull the sedative yesterday afternoon, knowing that once George was disgraced in a sex scandal, nobody would bother auditing the pharmacy logs.

George didn't report it. Reporting it now would only lead to an internal investigation, a tap on the wrist for Vincent, and Tiffany crying that it was a misunderstanding.

That wasn't enough.

He wanted them ruined.

At 7:45 PM, George walked into the grand lobby of the Grand Celestial Hotel. He was wearing a dark, well-fitted suit. Instead of taking the elevator straight to the fourth floor, he walked over to the front desk.

"Good evening," George said to the clerk. "I'm looking for a guest. Miss Clara Vance. I believe she checked in earlier today."

The clerk checked the computer. "Yes, sir. Miss Vance is in Room 304 on the third floor."

"Thank you," George said.

He walked to the elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor.

When he knocked on the door of Suite 402, Tiffany opened it immediately. She was wearing a stunning red dress,the exact dress she would wear six months later when she stood over his dead body.

"Darling! You're here!" she smiled, pulling him into the suite.

The room was luxurious, with leather sofas, soft lighting, and a large balcony overlooking the city. Vincent was standing by the wet bar, uncorking a dark glass bottle of red wine. On the silver tray next to him sat three crystal glasses.

One of the glasses was placed slightly apart from the other two.

"George," Vincent said, turning around with a warm grin. "Perfect timing. I just opened the Bordeaux."

Vincent poured the wine. He filled the two glasses on the left first, then filled the single isolated glass on the right. He picked up the isolated glass and walked across the room, holding it out to George.

"To the man of the hour," Vincent said. "The best surgeon at City Hospital."

George looked at the dark red liquid inside the crystal glass. He knew that ten milligrams of Triazolam were dissolved inside.

He reached out and took the glass.

"Thank you, Vincent," George said.

Tiffany picked up her glass, and Vincent took the remaining one.

"Drink up, darling," Tiffany urged, her eyes fixed on George’s lips with a hungry, impatient anticipation. "To your success."

George raised the glass toward his mouth. Then, he paused, frowning slightly.

"Vincent," George said, lowering the glass by an inch. "Did you check Raymond Maxwell’s post-op drain before you left the ward?"

Vincent blinked, annoyed by the interruption. "What? Of course I did. Why?"

"Because Nurse Clara told me the output was milky," George said, stepping closer to Vincent. "That indicates a lymphatic leak. If you missed a thoracic duct tear during your initial incision, the board is going to investigate your surgical prep."

"That’s impossible!" Vincent snapped, his professional pride instantly wounded. He turned around, walking toward his briefcase on the sofa to check his digital patient notes. "I prepped that chest cavity flawlessly!"

Tiffany turned toward Vincent too, frowning in panic. "Vincent, did you make a mistake?"

In that single, three-second window where both of their backs were turned, George didn't hesitate.

He reached out and switched his glass with Vincent’s glass on the silver table.

Vincent looked at his tablet, then slammed it down. "There is no lymphatic leak reported here, George! You’re seeing things!"

"My mistake," George said smoothly, offering an apologetic nod. "I must have misread the chart. Long shift."

Vincent sneered, picking up the crystal glass from the table,the laced glass. "Yeah. Clearly you're overworked, George. Drink your wine. It will help you relax."

"To friendship," George said.

He raised his clean glass and took a long sip.

Vincent stared at him, watching George swallow. A cruel, triumphant gleam flashed in Vincent’s eyes. Then, Vincent raised his own glass and drained half of the poisoned wine.