The Rejected Trillionaire Surgeon

CHAPTER 3

Jaxon watched as everyone at Brattson Diagnostics was on edge as whispers swept down the glassed corridors:

“She’s coming.”

Dr. Shirley Moss, the Harvard-trained goddess of scalpel and pride was due to arrive at any moment. Her transfer was not a request; it was an order from him, Jaxon, the anonymous CEO. The media called her a miracle worker, but the staff feared her like a final exam.

“She’s here! Everyone on their damn toes!” Director Charles Harrow barked, clapping his hands as a luxury black SUV glided to a stop outside.

She stepped out and like royalty, her silky dress spiraled behind her; heels slapping against marble floors like an applause.

"Director Harrow," she said, eyes not even on Charles, "You’re two minutes late."

Charles grinned. "Welcome to Brattson, Dr. Moss. We are… honored."

Her lips twitched. "Are you?"

Jaxon stayed near the entrance, watching and observing with mild amusement. No one would ever guess he was the CEO of the same empire they were all bowing to.

Shirley’s eyes scanned the space. "Where is my office?"

“Right this way,” Charles said, motioning towards the west wing. “Janitor!” he barked.

Jaxon stepped forward, not looking up.

“Show Dr. Shirley to her office. And keep your dirty gloves off her files, understood?”

Jaxon nodded quietly and began walking while Shirley and Charles fell into steps, following him; her heels echoed behind.

“Odd place,” she said, glancing around. “Smells like fear.”

Jaxon only smiled. “You’ll love it.”

Her office was a mini heaven, furnished to perfection. Jaxon had made sure of it.

She ran her fingers along the desk, inspecting even the grain in the wood.

"Clean. I hope your medical records are as tidy.”

“Dr. Shirley, you'll surely love it here.” Charles cut in.

Who asked you? Fool! Jaxon thought.

The hospital’s door burst open and …

"Emergency! Incoming trauma case!"

A gurney rolled in, flanked by two nurses and a panicked junior doctor. A woman lay unconscious, face bloodied, body limp; while the nurses struggled to stabilize her vitals.

"Hit and run victim!" the doctor gasped. "Came in from Hollowbridge Highway!"

Shirley strode over with immediate authority. “Get her into Trauma 1. I’ll lead the assessment.”

As they wheeled her away, the half conscious woman latched onto Shirley’s hand. Her voice cracked through dry lips. “Don’t… let me die… I have… to tell… Jaxon Mason…the prophecy.”

Shirley stiffened.

“Who?” she asked.

The woman’s eyes rolled back as a nurse administered a sedative. In seconds, she was out cold.

Jaxon froze. His name? Who was this woman and what business did she have with the prophecy? A patient on the brink of death... asking for him? Why?

His pulse spiked. He kept his head down and returned to his mop.

Behind the sliding glass doors, Dr. Shirley Moss had taken the lead. Her voice was crisp like fresh papers. Jaxon was pretending to mop the room, but he was listening.

“...Severe cranial edema. Skull fracture above the right temporal lobe. Possible internal bleeding.”

She pointed to the scan projected on the wall. “There’s pressure building around the brainstem. At this rate, she has less than 72 hours.”

A junior surgeon stepped forward. “Should we prep her for decompression?”

Shirley narrowed her eyes. “That’ll only worsen the situation.”

Charles Harrow entered just then, holding a tablet.

“Keep the case brief, Shirley. We have too many red zones in the ICU. If she’s a goner, flag her for day care or long-term palliative.”

“No!” Shirley snapped.

“Do you see a miracle in her blood work?” Charles countered. “There is no hope. Get her stable, transfer her out, and let’s move.”

Jaxon, still “mopping” near the door, clenched the handle.

Shirley turned back to the scans. “Unless someone attempts a cranial bridge with neurological re-mapping, this woman will die.”

Jaxon scoffed, dammit! simply call it brain cells interchange.

“That procedure is almost impossible.” Charles grinned. “There are always two outcomes, either she'll bleed to death, or die within three days of the surgery.”

“What other options do we have? I mean, Benjamin attempted something similar to this ten years ago”

Jaxon looked at her. She was right. Benjamin, the Frankfurt trained surgeon had done something similar, only that he went to jail after the surgery had failed. It was suicidal, but …

“This surgery is impossible.” Charles finalized.

“She spoke, she asked for someone.” Shirley said.

Charles folded his arms. “Oh? Who? Her lover? Her therapist?”

“Jaxon Mason.”

All pairs of eyes in the room turned to Jaxon who stood by the corner, swirling his mop.

Of course…his name is Jaxon, but he could swear he had never met this woman before.

Dr. Shirley Moss slowly went back to the scan.

God, she was so adorable.

“From the scans. There’s brain stem swelling, but it’s not entirely hopeless.”

Charles scoffed, waving the tablet in her face. “That woman’s half-dead and if she has a message for that baboon, Jaxon Mason, she should’ve texted him sooner.”

Jaxon swallowed hard.

A nurse approached. “Director Harrow, shall we proceed to move her to the daycare wing as entered in the system?”

“Do it,” Charles said. “No sense wasting critical care resources on a ghost.”

Jaxon’s phone buzzed in his back pocket, and he pulled it out:

Request: Transfer Patient 104-ZA to Daycare.

Authorized by: Director Charles Harrow.

Reason: Zero chance of survival.

Without thinking, he pressed: DECLINE.

“Request has been Declined,” the nurse blinked.

“What?” Charles spun toward the nurse.

“Overridden by... the CEO.”

Jaxon watched as Charles blinked in confusion. “The CEO? He never interferes in this department.”

Jaxon couldn't risk allowing them to move the woman out; he hoped to find out what the woman wanted with him.

Just then Charles pointed at him suddenly. “You! Why are you still here?”

Jaxon looked up slowly, mop still in hand. “I was just cleaning, sir. You asked for it to be spotless.”

“Get out!” Charles snapped.

“I…”

“I said OUT!!”

Jaxon gathered his tools and exited the room pushing the mop forward.

Time was ticking. Three days was all he had. Three days to figure out who the woman was... and what she knew about the prophecy.