Chapter 87
Dr. Hanley Mercer disliked surprises–especially the kind that showed up unannounced at his private office.
It was nearly nine in the evening, well past visiting hours, and he was halfway through reviewing post–op imaging when the receptionist buzzed his line.
“Doctor,” she said hesitantly, “there are… three gentlemen here to see you. They say it’s urgent.”
Dr. Mercer frowned. “Do they have an appointment?”
“No, sir.”
“Then tell them-”
“They insist,” she interrupted, lowering her voice. “And they don’t seem like the type to be turned away easily.”
That gave him pause.
After a brief moment, he sighed. “Send them in.”
The door opened, and three men stepped inside. They were dressed neatly–too neatly. Not suits, but tailored jackets, clean shoes, controlled expressions. The kind of men who didn’t belong in hospitals but somehow always found their way into them.
Dr. Mercer stood. “Gentlemen, this is a medical office. If you don’t have an appointment–”
“We apologize for the intrusion, Doctor,” the man in front said politely, offering a slight bow of the head. “We won’t take much of your time.”
Dr. Mercer gestured stiffly toward the chairs. “Speak quickly, then.”
They didn’t sit.
The lead man smiled faintly. “There is a patient currently admitted to Saint Germaine Medical. Female. Early twenties. Victim of a traffic accident earlier today.”
Dr. Mercer’s expression hardened. “I’m aware. That’s not confidential information, but discussing a patient with strangers is inappropriate.”
“Of course,” the man agreed smoothly. “We’re not here to ask about her condition.”
“Then why are you here?”
The man reached into his coat–not abruptly, but deliberately–and removed a tablet. He placed it on the desk and slid it forward.
“Please check your account balance.”
Dr. Mercer stiffened. “Excuse me?”
“Your offshore account,” the man clarified calmly.
Cold crept up Dr. Mercer’s spine.
“I don’t discuss my finances with-
“Doctor,” the second man interrupted gently, “just look.”
Against his better judgment, Dr. Mercer turned the tablet toward himself. The screen displayed an account he hadn’t accessed in months. His breath caught.
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A number stared back at him–far larger than it had been that morning.
His heart thudded once. Then again.
“That’s… impossible,” he muttered. “What is this for?”
The man’s voice softened, almost sympathetic. “We don’t want the girl alive.”
The words landed like a hammer.
Dr. Mercer shot to his feet. “Get out.”
The smile vanished.
“You misunderstand,” the man said. “We’re not asking for brutality. Just… inevitability.”
“I said get out,” Dr. Mercer snapped. “What you’re suggesting is murder. I will report this. I will have you arrested.”
The men didn’t move.
Instead, the lead man clasped his hands behind his back. “Doctor Mercer. Five years ago, you submitted a proposal for a hybrid diagnostic protocol combining internal imaging with neurological response mapping.”
Dr. Mercer froze.
“You were rejected,” the man continued. “Several times.”
Dr. Mercer stared at him. “How do you know that?”
“You refined the model three years ago,” the second man added. “Still rejected.”
The third smiled faintly. “You nearly gave up last winter.”
Dr. Mercer’s mouth felt dry. “Who are you people?”
“Friends,” the lead man said. “Who appreciate talent.”
Dr. Mercer shook his head sharply. “This ends now. Leave before I call security.”
The man sighed, as if disappointed. “We hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”
At that moment, Dr. Mercer’s phone rang on the desk.
He hesitated, then answered. “Mercer.”
A cheerful voice came through the line. “Doctor Mercer, this is the Biomedical Review Board. We wanted to inform you that your revised diagnostic protocol has passed preliminary testing.”
Dr. Mercer’s breath stopped.
“What?” he whispered.
“It exceeded expectations,” the voice continued. “We’re scheduling the final hearing. Congratulations.”
The call ended.
Silence filled the room.
Dr. Mercer slowly lowered the phone.
“That project,” he said hoarsely, “has been waiting approval for over a year.”
The lead man inclined his head. “Things move faster with the right encouragement.”
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Dr. Mercer backed away from the desk. “No,” he said firmly. “No amount of money. No approval. I will not end a patient’s life.”
“We don’t need you to end it,” the second man said calmly. “Just… misinterpret it.”
Dr. Mercer’s hands clenched. “I’ll transfer the money back. Right now. Then you’ll leave.”
The third man laughed quietly. “Doctor… the more we help, the more we can destroy.”
Dr. Mercer looked up sharply.
The lead man’s voice hardened for the first time. “Your license. Your reputation. Your research. All of it depends on perception.”
Dr. Mercer swallowed. “You’re threatening me.”
“We’re reminding you,” the man replied. “Medicine is about documentation.”
Dr. Mercer’s heart pounded. “I became a doctor to save lives.”
“And you will,” the man said. “Many more. Thanks to this project.”
Dr. Mercer shook his head slowly, anguish twisting his face. “I won’t do it.”
The lead man leaned forward slightly. “The diagnosis will be simple. Severe internal injuries. Complications due to unapproved
intervention..”
Dr. Mercer’s voice cracked. “She survived the accident.”
“For now,” the man replied. “But mistakes happen.”
Dr. Mercer closed his eyes.
Images flooded his mind–the years of rejection. The nights spent rewriting proposals. The colleagues who laughed behind his back. The future he’d nearly abandoned.
And then the threat.
His license.
His career.
Gone.
He opened his eyes,
defeated.
“I’ll make it look like an error,” he said quietly. “A complication doctors can’t be held responsible for.”
The men smiled.
“The driver,” Dr. Mercer continued numbly. “The blame will fall on the one who hit her.”
“Exactly,” the lead man said. “Once it’s done, inform us. We’ll handle the rest.”
They turned to leave.
As the door closed behind them, Dr. Mercer sank into his chair, trembling.
“How,” he whispered to the empty room, “did they know everything?”
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
