He unwrapped the bandage from his head and slipped out of his hospital room. The hallway was bustling with nurses and patients, the air filled with quiet chatter and the beeping of medical equipment.
"Where do I even start looking for her?" he muttered, scanning the busy corridor. Spotting the reception desk, he made his way over.
"Excuse me," he said, leaning on the counter.
The nurse behind the desk glanced up, offering a polite smile. "How can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Dr. Talia Quinn. I have... an appointment with her."
The nurse tilted her head slightly, her smile faltering. "Her office is on the fifth floor, but it's unlikely you'll find her there right now. She's extremely busy."
Frank flashed a disarming grin. "Oh, no problem. I'll just wait in her office. Thanks for the help."
The nurse nodded and returned to her work.
As Frank turned away, he muttered under his breath, "Perks of being in a hospital, I guess. Nobody questions a patient."
Frank flashed a sly grin as he muttered, "Showtime."
On his way to the elevator, he accidentally bumped into a doctor carrying a white coat over his arm.
"Sorry about that," Frank said casually, steadying the man with a quick pat on the shoulder.
By the time the doctor realized what had happened, Frank was already a few steps ahead, pulling on the coat. He grabbed a mask from a nearby dispenser and slipped it on.
"Of course it was," Frank whispered, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button for the fifth floor. The ride was silent except for the faint hum of the motor, giving him time to think.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing a stark contrast to the bustling ground floor. The fifth floor was pristine and unnervingly quiet. The kind of place reserved for VIPs and people with enough money to buy their way out of anything—including death.
"Rich people and their privileges," Frank muttered, shaking his head as he strolled down the hallway, reading the nameplates on the office doors.
A nurse walking past him gave a polite nod. "Good afternoon, doctor."
"Afternoon," Frank replied without hesitation.
"Are you looking for someone?" she asked, pausing with a clipboard.
"Yes, actually," Frank said, keeping his tone professional, "Is Dr. Talia in her office?"
"No, doctor. She's attending to a VIP patient," the nurse answered.
"Got it. Thanks," Frank said, giving a polite nod.
As she turned away, Frank casually slipped a hair clip from her bun, his fingers quick and practiced.
[Really? A hair clip? What are you going to do with that?]
"Just shut up and watch," Frank whispered, spinning the clip between his fingers.
At the end of the hall, he found what he was looking for: Talia Quinn, Head of Cardiac Department emblazoned on a shiny nameplate. With a quick glance around, Frank pulled out the stolen hair clip, inserted it into the lock, and fiddled with it until the door clicked open.
[You're alarmingly good at this.]
"Disguise and infiltration. Two skills two must have skills in my line of work," Frank quipped as he slipped into the room.
The room was spotless, the desk neatly organized. Awards and certificates lined the walls, but Frank ignored them, heading straight behind Talia's polished mahogany desk, he wasted no time. He powered on her computer, only to be met with a login screen. "Figures," he muttered.
He rummaged through the desk drawers, finding papers, pens, and—bingo—a sticky note with a few scribbled names and numbers.
"Women and their passwords," Frank chuckled, shaking his head as he typed in the numbers. The computer unlocked with a chime.
Frank's fingers danced across the keyboard as he sifted through Talia's files, looking for any clue. Failed surgeries? Angry patients? Relatives out for revenge? Yet, file after file told the same story: a perfect record.
[Then she's probably not the victim,] the system mused. [Maybe she's the perpetrator? Could she be planning to kill someone?]
Frank frowned, shaking his head. "Doesn't fit the profile, but let's keep digging."
He pulled up her schedule and immediately noticed something odd. There was a heart surgery scheduled in an hour—a high-profile case involving a big businessman.
"Interesting," Frank muttered. "Could he be the target? But why would a renowned surgeon like Talia risk everything to kill a businessman? Is there any Personal grudge?"
[Check her emails.] Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by novel-fire.net
"Good idea," Frank said, navigating to her inbox. As he scrolled through, the puzzle pieces began to fall into place.
He leaned back, rubbing his temples. "So she's the victim and the perpetrator, all rolled into one."
"Someone's threatening her. They've got her son, and they're forcing her to make a 'mistake' during this guy's surgery. If the businessman dies on the operating table, it'll look like a tragic medical accident. Clean, untraceable, and no one would ever suspect foul play."
[An elaborate plan. You almost sound impressed.]
"Oh, I am," Frank said with a smirk. "If the businessman dies on the operating table, it'll just look like a medical accident. Nobody would suspect it was a planned murder."
[Stop admiring the villain and get out of there before someone catches you.]
"Relax," Frank whispered, slipping out of the office and closing the door behind him. He retraced his steps back to the elevator, the stolen coat and mask still concealing his identity.
On his way back to the ground floor, he mulled over his next steps.
On his way back to the ground floor, he mulled over his next steps.
[You know what to do—report her to the authorities.]
"No," Frank said sharply. "If I do that, her career is finished. She's a victim here. She doesn't deserve to lose everything."
[Then what's your plan?]
Frank's eyes narrowed. "Simple. I need to secure her son. Once he's safe, she won't have a reason to go through with this. But I'll also need someone to stop her from doing something rash in the meantime."
"Risky is my middle name," Frank muttered as he stepped off the elevator.