The Phantom Surgeon's Revenge

I ignored the onlookers and turned to the ground staff.

"A refund is fine. But you must clearly state, in black and white on the refund form, that this was caused by your airline's overbooking and forced denial of boarding."

Otherwise, when the Stafford family came knocking, they'd think I had deliberately breached the agreement. I would not take the blame for that.

The chief flight attendant's expression darkened. She slammed her hand against the counter.

"Dream on! We offered you a solution and you refused it, and now you want to smear our airline?

"Security! Are you all dead? Get this crazy woman out of here!"

Several airport security guards rushed over immediately, grabbing my arms on either side.

"Let go!"

I struggled with everything I had, but they ignored me, dragging me straight toward the airport exit.

As I passed the chief flight attendant, I couldn't help but remind her, "You'd better remember my face today. And every word you just said. Very soon, you'll be kneeling, begging me."

Not only was she unfazed, she kicked my suitcase over.

The already damaged case burst open completely. Clothes and specially prepared medicine spilled across the floor.

She stepped down hard, crushing one of the medicine bottles. The custom-made pills inside instantly turned to powder.

My heart dropped. That was the medicine I had personally prepared for William Stafford—there was only that one batch. Without it, he wouldn't survive the postoperative recovery period.

"Oh my, how careless of me," she sneered from behind, her tone dripping with mockery.

Countless phone cameras turned toward me in an instant. Waves of laughter and ridicule swallowed me whole.

I was thrown out of the terminal, hitting the concrete hard.

Like tossing out trash, she flung my luggage on top of me.

"Take your junk and get lost! Cause any more trouble, and we'll call the police on you for disturbing public order!"

Just then, my phone began vibrating wildly.

The moment I answered, a barrage of accusations came crashing through the line.

"What's going on with you?! The plane took off ages ago. I checked the passenger list—your name isn't even on it!"

It was the Stafford family's butler, his voice thick with reproach and arrogance.

"Our family went to great lengths to invite you. We even transferred the deposit, and now you pull this stunt at the last minute? Who do you think you are, making the Stafford family wait for you? If it weren't for your surgical skills, do you think you'd be qualified to treat our heir?"

I tried to explain that it was the airline's fault, but he wouldn't listen.

"I'm warning you—our heir's terminal illness cannot be delayed. If you're not standing in the operating room at Scallow City's Goldson Hospital before nightfall today, don't blame the Stafford family for what happens next!

"You took our money and dare to not do the job? Believe it or not, I can make sure you never work in the medical field again!"

The call ended with a sharp click, the busy tone ringing in my ear.

…

Suppressing the anger in my chest, I called him back.

The moment the line connected, the butler's impatient voice came through.

"What else do you have to say? Figure out a way to charter a plane and get here!"

"No need," I said coolly. "If you want to know why I didn't board, go ask the chief flight attendant of the flight William is on."

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said."

I hung up without another word.

Then I opened my mobile banking app, found the 300-thousand-dollar "good faith deposit" the Stafford family had transferred earlier, and returned it in full—straight back the way it came.