Emily Carter thought she was about to lose the best job she'd ever had.

"Julian," Martha Vance said, turning her slate-gray eyes toward the hospital CEO. "Bring the board into the executive conference room on four. And bring Miss Carter with us."

"Yes, Chancellor. Immediately," Dr. Harrison replied, gesturing respectfully toward the private elevator bank.

Martha turned to Emily, who was standing frozen by the kiosk, her nametag still in her hand.

"Come along, child," Martha said, her expression softening into a warm, grandmotherly smile that contrasted sharply with the terror radiating from the hospital executives. "You have an administrative review to sit in on."

Ten minutes later, the executive conference room on the fourth floor—a vast, sunlit sanctuary paneled in dark mahogany and furnished with a thirty-foot conference table—was packed with twenty senior directors, department heads, and legal counsel.

Arthur Vance—Martha’s son and the hospital’s executive treasurer—sat at the far end of the table, looking pale and sweating through his starched collar. He knew his mother’s reputation; she was a woman who had spent forty years auditing federal health agencies and dismantling corrupt institutional bureaucracies with the cold precision of a surgeon.

At the head of the table sat Martha Vance. She had removed her moth-eaten wool coat, revealing a tailored black linen dress beneath, and sat with her hands resting calmly on the polished wood.

Standing beside her chair, holding her breath, was Emily Carter.

"For three years," Martha began, her voice rolling off the mahogany walls with absolute, unyielding authority, "I have received anonymous letters from nurses, technicians, and patients at Saint Jude’s. Letters detailing how administrative bonuses were prioritized over patient care. Letters describing how low-income patients from the South and West sides were systematically diverted to underfunded county facilities to preserve our profit margins."

She turned her gaze directly toward Derek Vance, who was standing against the back wall, sweating through his expensive shirt.

"And today," Martha continued, her eyes narrowing, "I witnessed firsthand the culture that has rotted this hospital from the core. A culture where a dedicated patient advocate who displays basic human empathy is suspended on the spot by an arrogant middle manager who values corporate image over human life."

Arthur Vance closed his eyes, rubbing his temples in utter defeat. He knew what was coming.

"Derek Vance," Martha announced, her voice dropping into a register of final, absolute condemnation. "You are stripped of your title, your executive compensation package, and your office. You have thirty minutes to clear your desk and leave this building. If you attempt to enter clinical grounds again, my legal team will ensure you never work in healthcare administration in the United States."

Derek let out a choked, desperate sound, but before he could speak, two hospital security guards—the very ones he had ordered to patrol the lobby—stepped into the room, took him by the arms, and hauled him backward out the double doors.

Martha then turned her attention to Chloe, who was hiding outside the glass partition.