Caldwell stares at me confounded, his hands clenching at his sides. For a second, I think he’s going to hit me. Instead, he turns on his heel and storms out of the office, slamming the door behind him.
Only then am I able to let out a breath I’ve been holding.
Holy shit. Threats aside, it’s almost over.
Once Marcella settles and Miranda’s parents are compensated, this nightmare will be behind me.
My heart’s pounding. Shockingly, I don’t feel rattled—I feel fucking alive. Furious, but clear. Like something’s snapped into place.
Caldwell showed me exactly who he is.
There’s no more doubt now. No more misplaced loyalty. The man I once admired and helped shape me into the surgeon I’m becoming—he’s gone. Or maybe he was never real. I likely saw what I wanted to see.
On my way back to the lab, I walk with purpose, ducking my head as I pass a group of interns huddled around the nurses’ station. My body is running hot, buzzing with adrenaline and residual anger. My mind’s already shifting. I’ve got a full protocol to run tonight and I’d rather be elbows-deep in analytics than replaying Caldwell’s bullshit on loop in my head.
I’m halfway there when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I almost ignore it until I glance down and see the name.
Marcella.
My pulse jumps for a completely different reason.
I swipe to answer. “Hey.”
“I hope this isn’t a bad time.” Her throaty voice feels like a warm blanket.
Never.
Ducking into one of the unoccupied procedure rooms—dim, quiet, sterile, I lean against the counter and take a deep breath. “It’s a perfect time. I wrapped up a hellish confrontation with Caldwell. What’s going on?”
She’s silent for a moment. Then, carefully, “Did he threaten your residency?”
“Yeah. I got the message loud and clear.” I pick at a piece of tape stuck to the counter. I’m not going to ever tell her what he said about her. I feel guilty for not coming to her defense.
“I’m sorry.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “It’s fine. I figured some sort of confrontation was coming.”
Another pause. This one is heavier. Tighter.
She clears her throat, shifting gears. “Well…the reason I’m calling is Caldwell’s attorney wants me to jump through a few more hoops.”
“Yeah?” I freeze, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
She continues, “He wants to depose you, Kendrick Lyon, and the two nurses on duty before making any final decisions on the settlement.”
I fist my hand in my pocket. “Why?”
“You were in the room,” she explains. “The only people who can speak to what actually happened in the OR, moment by moment.”
I pinch my nose. “So this is their way of figuring out if we’re a threat.”
“Exactly. They’re gauging risk,” she confirms. “Trying to decide if you’re credible, whether you could hurt them if we go to trial. If you’re too much of a liability—if you back up what we’ve already gathered—then they’ll have no choice but to settle big. If you come across unsure, or leave any room for doubt, they’ll seize on it.”
“Shit. They’ll lowball the Blacks. Or drag them through court.” I shake my head at the audacity.
Marcella sounds tired. “Yes. It could mean years of litigation, expert witnesses, more trauma, and less payout at the end.Notwhat we want.Notwhat they deserve.”
The silence—dense, suffocating, loaded—between us is full of implications neither of us wants to say out loud. I shift my weight and glance out the window without really looking.
