Chapter 4

The next morning, the moment I reached the parking garage to drive to the hospital, the sight in front of me stopped me cold.

The hood of my little white BMW was caved in, the windshield smashed to pieces. The driver's seat was littered with broken glass, along with the reek of rotten egg and slimy vegetable scraps.

Across the hood, sprayed in bright red paint, were the words:

"Quack with no conscience. Selfish gold-digging whore. Go die."

One after another, residents came for their cars in the neighboring spots. Every single one of them looked right through it and drove past me.

Robert pulled up beside me in his little Mercedes, rolled his window down slowly, chewing gum as he sneered.

"Young as you are, already chasing money as somebody's mistress. Now the real wife shows up, wrecks your car, sprays it down. You're getting off easy."

"One of these days you'll be walking down the street and someone'll snap your arm and carve 'slut' into your face."

Then he hit the gas and tore off.

I was shaking with rage. I turned and walked straight to the property management office.

Manager Chavez was lounging back in his chair, sipping his tea. When he heard me say I wanted the security footage pulled, he rolled his eyes, impatient.

"Miss Mason, property management doesn't exist to serve you and you alone. Don't come running to us over every little thing."

"Blowing up at your neighbors yesterday, getting your car sprayed today. Who's to say it isn't your own bad character, that you offended somebody?"

I held my anger down and said, level and firm,

"Manager Chavez, you collect management fees. Doesn't that obligate you to serve the residents?"

"Right now my personal property has been vandalized inside this complex. I have the right to have the footage pulled and find who did it."

My words froze the look on his face. Then he slapped the desk.

"Chump change like yours, and you think you deserve my service? You think you rate?"

His eyes flicked toward the monitors, and his voice went cold and nasty.

"So sorry. The cameras happened to be down for repairs yesterday. Nothing to see."

"Some people do enough rotten things, even Heaven can't stand to watch anymore."

Looking at his smug, swaggering face, I felt the anger jam up in my chest. I was about to open my mouth and throw it back at him when my phone rang.

"Dr. Mason, where are you? Get to the hospital, fast. Something's happened."

My heart lurched, and Robert's arrogant face flashed through my mind.

I didn't waste another word on Manager Chavez. I headed straight for the hospital.

Before I even reached the entrance, I could see it from a distance, a huge banner strung across the main doors, broken sobbing carrying through the crowd.

"Everyone, come look! A doctor from First General Hospital treats patients on the side, takes kickbacks, and delayed my husband's illness. Today she owes us an answer."

The banner read, in blazing letters: Conscienceless Dr. Mason, illegal practice, killing for money, justice for our family.

Old Mrs. Barnett was down on the ground, pounding her chest, one hand smearing tears and the other her nose as she wailed her accusations against me.

"Because we didn't grease her palm, she deliberately let my husband's condition drag, and now it's late-stage liver cancer, he's barely hanging on."

"April Mason, get out here. You're going to pay us two hundred thousand dollars."

I drew a slow breath and walked toward them, calm, one step at a time.

The instant Robert saw me, his eyes lit up. He swung the bullhorn straight at me.

"There she is, there she is. Everyone, take a good look. This is that doctor with no conscience, April Mason."

Every gaze snapped to me at once. Contempt, curiosity, blame.

The director and my colleagues had come out too. Looking at the "evidence" Robert thrust forward, the director turned to me, grave.

"Dr. Mason, did you treat them and prescribe medication privately?"

I frowned and nodded.

"Director Prescott, I only checked their blood pressure and blood sugar. I never took a cent in kickbacks."

Crack.

Before I could even react, Old Mrs. Barnett sprang up and slapped me across the face.

"Still saying you took nothing! How much of our fruit did you eat? The money the old man gave you, didn't you tuck it right into your bag?"

As she spoke, Sylvia lunged in too, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and clawed at my face.

The director and my colleagues rushed to block me, doing everything they could to explain, to pull them off.

The crowd churned harder. Someone shouted,

"The hospital's covering for the real culprit and ganging up on the family!"

The director's face was frantic. He grabbed my arm to pull me back.

"April, don't work today. Take the month off, lie low until this blows over. We'll sort it out once we've investigated."

In that moment, looking at the muttering strangers, looking at the three of them wailing and carrying on,

I pushed the director aside and walked, step by step, right up to Robert.

"Robert, you're the logistics supervisor at the JSM Group branch company, aren't you?"

I let out one cold laugh after another. Right in front of him, I took out my phone and calmly dialed a number.

"Uncle Gordon, there's a low-level supervisor at your branch named Robert Whitney, out in public assaulting people and running an extortion scam. Come take a look."

"Oh, and there's your branch vice president, Maxwell Cannon, too. Look into him while you're at it."