1 The medical student stood in the center of my office, refusing to hand over his final rotation evaluation. Instead, he shoved his phone into my face, the screen alight with a live stream. “Your son gets a paycheck! Why don’t I?” Connor screamed, his face flushed with manufactured outrage. I took a breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “Connor, I’ve explained this. Ethan receives a salary because he matched into the surgical residency program. He is a first-year resident. You are a fourth-year medical student on a clinical rotation. Medical students don’t get salaries; you only get a daily meal stipend.” Connor didn’t care. He pivoted to his phone, ranting to his TikTok audience that I was a corrupt Chief of Surgery embezzling his wages. The tantrum ended with him throwing open the third-floor window and threatening to jump. To avoid a public relations nightmare, the hospital CEO practically ordered me to pay Connor out of my own pocket to de-escalate the situation. In my past life, I did exactly that. I wired him the money. He refused to accept it, turned around, and threw himself out the window anyway. “You abused your power to steal my residency spot for your own son!” he had screamed before he fell. The internet tore me and my son apart. They doxxed us. To appease the public outrage, the hospital board stripped my son of his residency match and handed it to Connor. Under the crushing weight of the cyberbullying and the loss of his dream, Ethan’s mental health spiraled. He was killed by a speeding car while wandering in a daze. Later, when I was stabbed to death by the family of a patient Connor had ultimately killed through gross medical negligence, I finally learned the truth: Connor wasn’t just a random medical student. He was the CEO’s illegitimate son. I blinked. The sharp smell of antiseptic pulled me back to the present. Connor was standing right in front of me, aggressively barking the exact same words: “Why don’t I get a salary? Why am I paying tuition to work for free?” This time, I didn’t bother explaining. I calmly logged into the hospital’s HR portal and submitted my formal resignation. Without me and my son serving as their sacrificial lambs, I wanted to see exactly how long this CEO could protect her secret bastard. Seeing my silence, Connor shoved the phone closer. “What’s wrong, Dr. Reed? Cat got your tongue? Are you feeling guilty?” he sneered. “If you hadn’t pulled strings for your son, that residency spot in Cardiothoracic Surgery would be mine!” I looked dead into the camera lens. The suffocating rage and helplessness of my previous life were gone, replaced by an ice-cold clarity. “The residency spot is yours,” I said quietly. Connor froze. “What?” “Ethan and I are resigning.” The chat on his live stream exploded in a frenzy of celebration. “Justice served!” “OMG, the internet wins again!” But there was no joy on Connor’s face. Panic flickered in his eyes. A viewer commented: “Poor guy. He got his spot back but he isn’t even smiling. He must be so traumatized!” Connor snapped out of it, forcing two massive tears to roll down his cheeks. “If I actually get the spot back, then all the suffering was worth it,” he choked out, playing to the camera. “I never wanted to take this to the internet, but I had no choice…” The comments turned venomous again: “Get that corrupt doctor and his nepotism baby out of that hospital immediately!” Ignoring Connor’s theatrical performance, I pulled out my phone and dialed my son. “Ethan, I just put in my notice. Do you want to match at a different hospital with me?” “Absolutely, Dad.” Ever since my wife passed away from sudden cardiac arrest, Ethan’s only dream had been to stand across the operating table from me, saving lives. Connor let out a guttural yell and snatched my phone from my hand. “I don’t accept your resignation!” he yelled. His hands were shaking. He couldn’t hide the sheer terror bleeding into his expression. He knew the truth. Eden Valley Medical Center was the most prestigious private hospital on the East Coast. Even if my son voluntarily forfeited his spot, the hospital’s Residency Review Committee was notoriously strict. With Connor’s abysmal board scores, that spot would never roll down to him. That was why, in my past life, he had to stage a suicide attempt to force their hand. Unfortunately, his internet audience couldn’t read the nuance of his panic. I leaned back against my desk, crossing my arms. “Didn’t you just say I used my authority to steal your spot?” I asked, a faint smile playing on my lips. “Us leaving is the best possible outcome for you. Why are you objecting?” The chat slowed down. A few viewers started asking the same question. Connor began to sob hysterically. “Dr. Reed, you’re the Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery! The CEO would never let a top surgeon like you just walk away!” he cried out. “You’re just playing mind games! You’re trying to force the board to choose between a poor medical student and their star surgeon! I already accepted that you stole my residency, but why won’t you just give me the back pay you owe me?” He played the victim beautifully. The internet ate it up. “You soulless corporate butcher,” one comment read. “Give the kid his money and his spot, then rot in hell!” Connor stared at me with total certainty, waiting for me to pull out my phone and wire him the cash out of sheer embarrassment, just like last time. He wanted to nail me to the cross of “guilt-driven hush money.” I met his gaze and flatly refused. “Once my son and I clear out our lockers, you’ll have everything you supposedly deserve.” Biting his lip, Connor dropped to his knees right in front of the camera, begging. “Dr. Reed, please! If the CEO finds out I pushed you into resigning, she’ll expel me from the program entirely! I’m not asking for the residency spot back. I just want my wages! My dad is incredibly sick… we need the money for his treatments…” His performance was Oscar-worthy. Within ten minutes, I was trending on X and TikTok as the most hated doctor in America. Ethan, having seen the stream, burst into my office. “Connor, shut your mouth!” Ethan shouted, stepping between me and the camera. “Hospital payroll is handled entirely by corporate HR. My dad doesn’t have access to your money! And you’re a med student—you literally aren’t legally entitled to a salary!” Connor just wailed louder. Someone took a high-definition screenshot of Ethan’s face and blasted it across Twitter. I remembered how the doxxing had broken his mind in my past life. I grabbed Ethan by the shoulders and pulled him behind me. “Did you submit your withdrawal from the match program?” I asked him quietly. Ethan nodded. “Wherever you go, Dad, I go.” I pulled him into a tight embrace. This time, I swore to myself, I am going to protect my boy. The phone on my desk rang. It was Victoria Sinclair, the hospital CEO. “Marcus!” her voice snapped through the receiver. “This hospital is trending online for all the wrong reasons. Get to the boardroom right now and explain yourself!” I printed out my physical resignation letter, grabbed Ethan’s arm, and headed for the door. Connor scrambled off the floor and lunged for the paper in my hand. “Dr. Reed, you’re trying to use this resignation to ruin me! Fine, I don’t want the money anymore!” Ethan shoved Connor back. “Cut the act, Connor. The residency spot is wide open now. Let’s see if you’re actually smart enough to claim it.” Connor’s face drained of color. Suddenly, he sprinted toward the open window. “I don’t want the spot! I don’t want the money! Just don’t resign! Why are you forcing me into a corner? Will me dying make you happy?” Watching him approach the exact same window, I rushed forward and grabbed his waist. Connor thrashed violently, making sure to keep his phone angled so his viewers could see him being “pushed to the brink.” Ethan ran into the hallway screaming for hospital security. By the time the guards arrived, Victoria Sinclair was already storming down the corridor. “Marcus! What the hell are you and your son doing?” Victoria shrieked, her high heels clicking aggressively against the linoleum. “You know damn well I’m not accepting your resignation! Are you trying to drive this poor boy to suicide?” She scolded me with righteous indignation, then turned to speak to Connor in a soft, maternal tone. The live stream captured it all. The comments shifted immediately, praising the “beautiful, compassionate CEO” who actually cared about medical students, unlike the “boomer doctors.” Nobody knew that Victoria was terrified. If I actually left with my son, her secret child wouldn’t get the Cardiothoracic spot—he’d be tossed into the brutal meat grinder of the ER, or worse, unmatched entirely. But she couldn’t show her hand. If I hadn’t been murdered in my past life and learned the truth about their bloodline, I might have spent today desperately trying to clear my name. Instead, I pulled out my phone and found a specific contact. “That’s fine, Victoria. If you won’t accept my resignation, I’ll just bring it directly to your husband. I’m sure Richard can process it.” Victoria had married into the Sinclair family—a dynasty of old East Coast billionaires. She had spent twenty years playing the obedient, flawless wife to secure her position as CEO of their crown-jewel hospital. At the mention of Richard’s name, raw panic flashed across her face. she lunged to snatch my phone. I sidestepped her smoothly. “Ethan and I are willing to walk away quietly as an apology. Why are you fighting it so hard, Victoria? You and Connor seem to have the exact same bizarre reaction to us leaving.” Victoria’s face tightened. She forced a stiff, unnatural smile, lowering her voice. “Marcus, you are the backbone of this hospital. Ethan is a brilliant prospect. We can’t lose you over a misunderstanding.” Then, raising her voice for the camera, she turned to Connor. “It’s true that clinical rotations don’t offer salaries, Connor. But there is a $2,500 monthly living stipend.” Connor immediately opened his banking app and shoved it at her. “What stipend? I’ve been here for a year and haven’t seen a dime!” Victoria immediately called the payroll department on speakerphone. After a brief exchange, she turned to me, her brow furrowed in rehearsed disappointment. “Marcus! HR says you never submitted Connor’s direct deposit forms or his quarterly evaluations! Have you been intentionally targeting him? No wonder this brilliant young man was forced to give up his residency application! You broke his spirit!” She let out a dramatic sigh. “Since you caused this, Marcus, the board will transfer Ethan’s residency match to Connor to make things right. And you will personally reimburse his lost stipends by the end of the day.” I stared coldly at Victoria. The pieces clicked together. She had designed this entire trap—from the missing HR paperwork to the internet outrage—as a stepping stone for her illegitimate son. “I’ll pay him the stipend,” I said. “But in exchange, you sign my release papers. Today.” Victoria and Connor exchanged a fleeting, microscopic glance. Then, Connor vaulted over the window ledge. “Dr. Reed, don’t make things hard for the CEO! If I die, all these problems go away!” It happened in the blink of an eye. Before security could grab him, he plummeted out of sight. The hospital went into chaos. Connor was rushed to the ER. My phone, and Ethan’s, began vibrating so violently they felt hot to the touch. The doxxing had begun. Death threats, calls for our medical licenses to be revoked, vile messages about my late wife. It felt exactly like the suffocating nightmare of my past life. But this time, my pulse remained steady. I reached into my pocket, pulled out a small plastic evidence bag containing two strands of hair I had discreetly plucked from Connor’s coat while restraining him, and handed it to Ethan. “Take this to the private lab downtown. Request a 24-hour rush DNA comparison with the hair we pulled from the CEO’s office chair last week,” I whispered. “Then buy us two burner phones.” Ethan didn’t ask questions. He slipped out through the back stairwell. When he returned, I swapped my SIM card and sent a secure PDF of the DNA results directly to Richard Sinclair’s private email. Subject: Victoria’s biological son. Almost instantly, Richard’s number flashed on my screen. Before I could answer, Victoria materialized from around the corner, recognized the caller ID on my screen, and violently swatted the phone from my hand. She scooped it up, pressing it to her ear. “Richard, darling! Do not accept Marcus Reed’s resignation! The Cardiothoracic department needs him. The internet drama is a mess, but I have it completely under control!” Richard said something brief. Then the line went dead. He hadn’t mentioned the illegitimate son. But a billionaire like Richard Sinclair didn’t get to the top by being foolish. He would verify it himself. Victoria shoved my phone back into my chest, her mask slipping to reveal pure venom. “You almost pushed that boy to his death, and you think you can just quit and run away? If Connor files a police report for workplace harassment, your career is over, and Ethan will never practice medicine in this country!” “Let him call the cops, then,” I said coolly. I wanted this to blow up. The bigger the blast radius, the better. Victoria narrowed her eyes. “Stop being stubborn, Marcus.” She leaned in. “The board has already finalized the decision. Ethan’s spot goes to Connor to pacify the press. I’ve spoken to Connor—he’s a forgiving boy. He won’t press charges, and he’ll even go online and clear your name.” “But,” she added, her voice dropping to a whisper, “you will personally mentor him. As an apology. As for Ethan… he can re-match next year.” Eden Valley Medical Center paid triple the salary of public hospitals and had state-of-the-art tech. Because of its prestige, they only accepted graduating seniors into their match program. Ethan couldn’t just “wait a year.” His window would close forever. Victoria seemed to remember this fact. She coughed awkwardly. “I… I will personally ensure Ethan gets a spot next cycle.” She said it just loud enough for a group of passing nurses to hear. Immediately, the whispers started. “Wait, is Dr. Reed sleeping with the CEO to get his son a spot?” “Did you hear that? She’s basically guaranteeing him a backdoor entry.” Victoria whirled on the nurses. “Get back to work! If my husband hears these disgusting rumors, I’ll fire all of you!” Ethan’s fists trembled. He looked at Victoria, his voice dripping with disgust. “You refuse to let us leave, and then you deliberately say things out loud to make people think my dad is sleeping with you? Are you trying to permanently ruin his reputation?” “Don’t be ungrateful, Ethan. I’m trying to save your careers!” Victoria snapped, turning on her heel and marching away. The crowd dispersed, but the damage was done. By noon, the hospital rumor mill had convicted me of having a sordid affair with the CEO to secure my son’s future. Ethan unclenched his fists, turning to me in the empty hallway. “Dad, is she insane? She’d rather people think she’s having an affair with you than let us quit? What is she getting out of this?” He paused, thinking about the errand I sent him on. “And that DNA test…” I pulled him into an empty supply closet and spoke softly. “Because Connor is her biological son.” Ethan’s jaw dropped. “What? How do you know that?” I told him about the “dream” I had—the visceral, terrifying nightmare of my past life. Ethan’s hands shook as he gripped my scrubs. “Dad… we can’t let them get away with this.” I nodded slowly. I went back to my office and began downloading every single email, surgical log, and HR timestamp that proved I had never withheld Connor’s paperwork. No matter how Richard Sinclair handled his wife’s infidelity, I was making sure my own defenses were impenetrable. Just as my flash drive finished loading, my phone buzzed with a text from Victoria: [Go pay Connor’s hospital bills. He was injured because of you. Cover his nursing fees, physical therapy, and wire him $500,000 for emotional distress. Once the wire clears, he’ll go live and tell the internet this was all a misunderstanding. Also, reimburse his year of stipends out of your own pocket. If you don’t, I won’t protect you from the board.] I scoffed. Connor had jumped from a third-story window directly over the loading dock, aiming perfectly for a massive commercial delivery awning that broke his fall. In my past life, and in this one, he only suffered minor bruising. And for that, they wanted to extort me for half a million dollars. I unplugged the flash drive. As long as Ethan and I walked out of here alive, the residency spot didn’t matter. By late afternoon, because Connor hadn’t received his money, the internet mob went nuclear. The hashtags #ButcherDrReed and #NepoBabyEthan were trending at number one nationwide. The fabricated rumors of my “affair” with Victoria had even reached the local news blogs. I knew she was feeding the press. She stormed into my office, slamming the door. “Marcus! Do you want to lose your license? Do you want Ethan to be a pariah? Wire the money to Connor right now! If this escalates any further, I can’t save you!” I leaned back in my chair. “Earlier today, I was willing to pay just to sever my contract. You and Connor refused. Now you want my money? Too late.” “What the hell does that mean?” “It means you aren’t getting a dime. And you should probably figure out what you’re going to say to your husband when he asks about your other family.” Victoria assumed I was talking about the affair rumors she herself had started. She let out a haughty laugh. “My husband isn’t an idiot, Marcus. A two-minute investigation will prove you and I never touched each other.” I said nothing. “You have ten minutes to initiate the $500,000 wire,” she commanded, pointing a manicured finger at me. “When you’re unemployed and facing a malpractice suit, don’t come crying to me.” She slammed the door behind her. I immediately forwarded the audio recording of her extortion attempt to my lawyer. Once he confirmed that demanding $500,000 under threat of professional sabotage constituted felony extortion, I initiated the wire transfer to Connor’s account. The trap was set. Almost immediately after the money left my account, new anonymous posts flooded the medical forums. “Former interns” claimed I was a tyrant who emotionally abused students in the OR. I was notoriously strict in the operating room—surgery is a matter of life and death, and there is zero room for fragility. Naturally, a few egos had been bruised over the years. But for every complaint, there were three actual residents defending me: [Dr. Reed is tough, but he’s fair. He expects perfection because a millimeter mistake kills a patient. He’s the best mentor I’ve ever had.] Mysteriously, all the positive comments were deleted by the forum moderators within minutes. Then came the email from HR: My salary was being slashed by 50% pending an investigation, and my Chief’s on-call apartment in the hospital’s residential wing was being revoked. A timid HR assistant knocked on my door. “Dr. Reed? The CEO says you need to vacate the residential suite in thirty minutes.” I had an emergency valve replacement scheduled in ten. “I have a patient on the table,” I said. “Ethan will pack up our things.” Two hours later, as I scrubbed out of the OR, a frantic surgical tech ran up to me. “Dr. Reed! Thank God you’re done. Ethan is getting jumped in the residential wing!” Ethan had my temper—he was disciplined. He never fought unless forced. I broke into a sprint down the corridor, dialing 911 as I ran. Just to be safe, I hit ‘send’ on an email to Richard Sinclair, containing the audio file of his wife extorting me, plus the exact coordinates of my apartment. Victoria was playing a dangerous, stupid game, and the Sinclair family was famous for destroying anyone who brought scandal to their name. I burst through the door of my suite. Ethan was pinned to the hardwood floor. His arms were covered in defensive scratches, and a bright red, swollen handprint spanned across his cheek. Scattered across the floor was the shattered glass of my late wife’s framed photograph. A primal roar ripped from my throat. I lunged at the man who was raising his fist to strike my son again. Before I could reach him, a massive, heavily muscled woman slammed her boot into my ribs, kicking me backward into the wall. “You soulless prick!” she spat. “You’re the one who pushed my nephew out a window!” The man I had tried to tackle scrambled up and grabbed me by the collar. “You almost killed my boy! You think your dirty money fixes this? The trauma you caused my son can’t be bought!” I stared at him. This was Wyatt Hayes. Victoria’s hidden lover. Connor’s biological father. I tasted copper in my mouth. I looked at Wyatt with dead eyes. “What do you want?” “Roxanne! Give him the paper!” Wyatt barked. The muscular woman sneered, pulling a thick manuscript from her bag and tossing it onto my chest. “If you’re really sorry, Dr. Reed, you’ll make Connor the first author on this clinical trial.” I looked at the cover page and felt the blood drain from my face. Now I knew why Ethan had fought back. This was my late wife’s unfinished research. After Sarah died, Ethan and I spent five grueling years collecting data, running trials, and agonizing over every metric. It was finally ready for submission to The Lancet. It was her legacy. And this parasite wanted to slap his name on it to guarantee a surgical fellowship. I looked at Ethan’s bleeding face. I couldn’t let them hurt him anymore. “Fine,” I breathed. “I’ll do it.” Roxanne’s eyes lit up with greedy shock. She knelt down next to Ethan, running a calloused hand through his hair. “Wow, you’re pretty obedient, Doc. You know, since we’re making deals… why don’t we keep it in the family?” She traced Ethan’s jawline, her smile sickening. “I’ve been single way too long. A handsome, Ivy-league doctor for a husband? I could give him a couple of kids. Make a real man out of him.” Victoria Sinclair stepped out from my kitchen, a cold, satisfied smile on her face. “I think that’s a brilliant idea,” the CEO said. “Once we’re all family, this little dispute between you and Connor vanishes completely.” Ethan spat blood onto the floor. “Go to hell,” he choked out. Roxanne grabbed him by the throat and dragged him toward the back bedroom. I tried to scramble to my feet, but Victoria blocked my path. “Marcus, why do you always have to make things so difficult?” she sighed, adjusting her Rolex. “Wyatt told me your son threw the first punch. Do you really want Roxanne pressing assault charges against Ethan? His career would be over before it starts.” She completely ignored the fact that they had broken into my home and assaulted him. Seeing Roxanne tear the collar of Ethan’s shirt, I realized the police wouldn’t make it in time. I pulled out my phone and held up the digital PDF of the DNA test. “Victoria,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise like a scalpel. “Did you really think you and Wyatt kept Connor’s paternity a secret? Did you think I was blind?” Wyatt’s eyes widened in sheer terror. He dropped me, clamped a hand over my mouth, and dragged me into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind us. A second later, heavy fists pounded on the front door. “NYPD! Open up! Who called 911?”
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “645626”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel
Leave a Reply