Chapter 3 - The Ambulance and the Briefcase
Ten minutes later, the wail of sirens cut through the damp Chicago night as a municipal fire department rescue unit and an intensive care ambulance backed up to the Adams Street entrance. Paramedics rushed across the concourse with a trauma kit, oxygen tanks, and a collapsible stretcher, moving with practiced, frantic efficiency.
Leo stayed right by Arthur’s side, holding the old man’s cold, trembling hand while the lead paramedic attached ECG leads to Arthur’s chest and administered a sublingual nitroglycerin tablet beneath his tongue.
"He's stable, but it's a close call," the paramedic announced, shouting over the hum of monitoring equipment as they lifted Arthur onto the gurney. "Acute myocardial ischemia. Another ten minutes on that cold floor and we'd be calling the county coroner. Who found him?"
"I did," Leo said quietly, stepping back as the wheels of the gurney began to roll toward the ambulance doors.
"You saved his life, kid," the paramedic said, offering a brief, respectful nod. "Hop in the back if you're family; otherwise, we're rolling."
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"I'm not family, but I'm riding along to make sure he gets admitted," Leo insisted, pulling his canvas work jacket over his shoulders. He looked down at the floor where Arthur had fallen. Resting against the bronze plinth was the old man’s battered leather briefcase, left behind in the panic of the collapse.
Leo scooped the heavy briefcase up by its brass handle, tucked it under his arm, and climbed into the back of the flashing ambulance as the doors slammed shut, sealing them in the warm, sterile light of the emergency vehicle as it tore away into the rain.
