Chapter 4
Kelvin's fingers paused on the desk.
I said calmly, "I'll go into the operating room, and you'll give me general anesthesia. But you won't touch my liver.
"Instead, you'll remove a small piece of healthy tissue, enough that it won't harm me.
"During the procedure, you'll create the illusion of severe bleeding, using prepared blood and drainage tubes.
"In the end, you'll declare me dead after unsuccessful resuscitation."
"It's way too risky," Kelvin said.
"Is it more dangerous than me giving up half my liver?" I shot back.
Kelvin stayed silent.
"Dr. Lester," I said, "I've looked into your background. You're the youngest attending physician at St. Johnson Hospital.
"But three years ago, you were demoted because of a medical dispute. The patient's family was the Powell family."
Kelvin's face shifted. "You really did your homework."
I continued, "Three years ago, a distant relative of the Powells had surgery with you. They ignored your post-op instructions and ended up screwing themselves over.
"The Powells blamed you, saying it was your mistake. You took the fall, got disciplined, and someone else snatched the department head position."
Kelvin sat there in silence for a long moment.
"I'm not threatening you," I said. "I want you to know that helping me could work in your favor.
"Someday, if Oscar loses his power, you might finally get a chance to clear your name."
Kelvin stood up and walked to the window, his back to me, hands in the pockets of his white coat.
He stayed like that for a couple of minutes.
Then he turned around.
"I'll take care of your physical," he said. "I can adjust the results and make it look like you're barely fit for surgery.
"But your blood doesn't clot well, so you'll look like a high-risk case for bleeding during the operation.
"So if we announce you died on the table, no one will be surprised after reading your medical report."
I nodded.
"When's the surgery scheduled?" Kelvin asked.
"Two weeks from now," I replied. "Georgia can hold on at most until the end of the month. Oscar won't let it go past this month."
"Alright. We'll go over the details later," Kelvin said.
He opened the door, his face back to that all-business look.
"The medical report will be ready in three days," he said.
"Thanks," I said.
"Don't thank me," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Make sure you walk out of here alive."
When the medical report was ready, Milena came to pick it up herself.
She flipped through the pages, her brow knitting for a moment.
"Clotting issues?" Milena asked.
"Pregnancy messes with clotting," Matthew chimed in from the side. "But Dr. Lester says it's under control."
"It's good as long as it's under control," Milena said, snapping the report shut.
Milena didn't ask about any of my physical details.
She didn't ask what would happen if things went south.
All she cared about was whether the surgery could go ahead.
"Sign here," she said, handing me the consent form.
I took it.
With the pen poised above the paper, I hesitated for a moment.
Back then, when I signed this the first time, I was crying.
Tears blurred the word "voluntary" into a messy stain.
This time, my hand didn't shake at all.
I signed my name.
Every stroke was precise, the name perfectly legible.
Milena took the form, looked it over, and nodded in approval.
"I'll have someone tell Oscar," she said.
As she stood up, I called out to her, "Milena."
She turned back. "What is it?"
I said, "Before the surgery, I want to see Oscar."
Milena paused. "He's busy these days."
"I know. I want to see him once. Five minutes is all I need," I said.
Milena thought for a moment. "I'll let him know."
After the door closed, I lay back on the bed.
All I wanted was five minutes from him.
Back then, I never asked Oscar for anything.
This time, I was only asking for five minutes.
Five minutes were enough for me to do something I had never done.
It was long enough for me to record a message.
I waited for two days.
Oscar never showed up.
Instead, Georgia came.
She was in a wheelchair, pushed by an orderly, and showed up at my door.
Georgia was so thin that she barely looked like herself anymore, her cheekbones sharp, her lips almost colorless.
But she still tried to look her best. Her hair was in a loose side braid, and a silver bracelet dangled from her wrist.
Georgia always called Jennifer.
She called me that back then, too.
Every time she said it, she smiled, but her smile never reached her eyes.
"Georgia." I sat up.
"I heard you agreed," she said with a smile. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," I said.
"Jennifer, there's something I've always wanted to tell you," Georgia said, wheeling herself a bit closer. "Being married to Oscar these past three years, you've had it rough."
I looked at her.
"Oscar's always had me in his heart. I'm sorry you had to put up with that," she said softly.