The Phantom Surgeon's Revenge

The postscript contained only five words: Please find someone more capable.

300 thousand dollars might be an astronomical sum to others, but to me, it wasn't enough to offset the humiliation I'd suffered today.

After that, I blocked every contact from the Stafford family, cutting off all ties completely.

Looking at the crushed powder of my custom-made medicine scattered across the floor, I let out a cold laugh.

'William, your life is no longer my concern.'

I hailed a taxi and went straight back to the hospital.

The moment I sat down in my office, my phone began vibrating wildly again.

As soon as I answered, the hospital director, Dr. George Whitman's furious roar exploded through the line.

"Diana! What the hell are you doing?! The Stafford family has already called me! They said you caused trouble at the airport and even tried to assault William! The chief flight attendant only had you removed to protect him, and instead of reflecting on your actions, you even dared to return their deposit?!"

I froze for a second, then couldn't help laughing out loud.

That flight attendant's ability to twist the truth was truly impressive. To shirk responsibility for the overbooking, she had fabricated such an outrageous lie. Even more ridiculous was the Stafford family believing it without the slightest attempt to verify.

"The patriarch of the Stafford family has given his order. Get to Scallow City immediately, kneel and apologize to William, and proceed with the surgery at once! If you refuse, you're fired!"

I ignored the shouting on the other end, pulled out a blank sheet of paper, and quickly wrote my resignation letter. Then I went upstairs and pushed open the door to the director's office.

Dr. Whitman was still holding his phone. He froze when he saw me walk in.

I slapped the resignation letter down on his desk.

"No need for you to fire me. I quit."

He stared at the paper, eyes wide. "Are you out of your mind? Do you think resigning will let you escape this?"

I braced both hands on the desk and looked down at him.

"Dr. Whitman, I've been too tired lately. I'm planning to take an extended break out of town. If the Stafford family has the ability to revoke my medical license, let them. And if they want to blacklist me, then so be it."

With that, I turned and walked out.

"Stop right there! Get back here!"

His furious shouting trailed behind me, powerless and ineffective.

I didn't look back.

The timing should be about right.

William's terminal illness had been sustained solely by my custom medicine, keeping him alive by a thread.

Now the medicine was gone—and he was tens of thousands of feet in the air.

The onset of his condition… should be imminent.

…

After returning home, I turned off my phone, drew the curtains, and fell into a deep sleep.

Early the next morning, when I finally switched my phone back on, it was flooded with missed calls from the Stafford family.

Moments later, an unfamiliar local number came through.

As soon as I answered, a familiar voice rang out.

"Dr. Sullivan! Please come back to the airport immediately! Mr. Stafford is vomiting blood and has fallen unconscious on the plane!"

"The airline has specially approved a free business-class seat for you. They'll arrange a dedicated flight to take you to Scallow City!"

It was the same chief flight attendant from yesterday.

I let out a cold scoff, exposing her hypocrisy without hesitation.

"A free business-class seat? Didn't you call me a pathetic nobody who deserved to be thrown off the plane?"

"Cut the nonsense!" She was clearly panicking, though her tone remained as domineering as ever. "The Stafford family is putting pressure on the airline right now. If I lose my job because of you, I won't let you off! Get over here right now!"

I hung up immediately and blocked the number as well.

Less than half an hour later, loud banging suddenly erupted at my door.