Chapter 8 - The Hospital Prison
Dr. Miller closed the heavy wooden door behind him and locked it with a definitive click.
He was a tall, distinguished man who had always treated me with polite professionalism in the trauma ward.
Now, he stood blocking my only exit, staring at the flashing spreadsheets on the computer screen.
"You have no idea what you have stumbled into, Emily," he said, pulling a pair of latex gloves from his pocket.
I grabbed a heavy metal clipboard from the desk and held it up like a shield.
"You are funding monsters," I spat at him, my voice trembling with absolute disgust.
Dr. Miller laughed softly, a sound completely devoid of any real humor or humanity.
He explained that Jackson had been their primary accountant for years, laundering the blood money to look perfectly clean.
Lorraine had accidentally discovered the truth while snooping through Jackson's home office.
She stole the drive to extort a massive payout to cover her gambling debts, entirely underestimating their ruthlessness.
"We cannot let those files leave this room, Emily," Dr. Miller stated, taking a slow step toward me.
I glanced at Mia, who was watching us with wide, terrified eyes from the small cot.
I knew I could not overpower a man twice my size in a locked room.
I looked at the rolling metal surgical cart parked near the wall, fully stocked for minor procedures.
I lunged toward the cart and grabbed a sterile, stainless steel scalpel, ripping it out of its plastic packaging.
I held the small, razor-sharp blade out in front of me, ready to defend my child at any cost.
Dr. Miller stopped advancing, his eyes narrowing as he calculated the immediate risk.
"Don't be foolish, Emily, you won't survive this building," he warned, his tone dropping to a dangerous growl.
I did not waste time arguing with a monster in a white coat.
I threw the heavy metal clipboard directly at his face with all the strength in my arm.
He raised his hands to block the flying metal, leaving his torso completely unprotected for a fraction of a second.
I charged forward and slashed the scalpel deeply across his forearm, slicing through his expensive suit jacket.
He screamed in pain and stumbled backward, clutching his bleeding arm and cursing loudly.
I grabbed Mia by her shirt and dragged her out the door before he could recover his balance.
We sprinted down the hallway toward the emergency stairwell, avoiding the main elevators completely.
I knew the ground floor would be swarming with security guards loyal to the Chief of Staff.
Our only chance was to go upward and find a way to signal for real, untainted help.
We climbed three grueling flights of stairs until we finally burst out onto the hospital's flat, gravel roof.
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The cool night wind hit my face, but my brief moment of relief vanished instantly.
Jackson was standing near the edge of the roof, holding a bruised and battered Lorraine at gunpoint.
