The morning started with the scent of starched cotton. Eleanor stood before the mirror, buttoning her white lab coat. The fabric felt familiar, restoring her professional confidence. She was no longer a fired divorcee; she was a physician again.
On the table sat a heavy black case—a portable EKG machine she’d kept from her private practice years. She checked the leads and the gel. Everything was ready.
The doorbell rang. It was Silas. The old teacher was brushing snow from his tweed coat. He held a thick book.
“Good morning, Eleanor. I thought I’d come by and keep the young man company. I brought *Treasure Island*. Seven is the perfect age to learn about maps and hidden gold.”
“Thank you, Silas,” Eleanor said, touching his arm. “Paulie’s in the kitchen. We should be back in a few hours.”
“Take your time, Eleanor. As Hemingway said, ‘Courage is grace under pressure.’ Be careful.”
Jack was waiting downstairs. The Crown Vic was idling, sending plumes of white exhaust into the cold air. Jack had traded his leather jacket for a dark overcoat. Eleanor sat in the front, the EKG case on her lap.
“You look like a professor about to give a lecture,” Jack said, his voice warm.
“The goal is to make Victor Reed believe the role. He’s under immense stress. We’re going to play on his fear of a heart attack—the same thing that ‘killed’ his boss.”
The business center on Oak Street was a glass-and-steel tower. In the lobby, a security guard blocked the elevators.
“Can I help you? You need a badge to go up.”
Eleanor didn’t slow down. She gave him the icy look she usually reserved for lazy interns. “I’m Dr. Vance. I’m here for Victor Reed. He’s having chest pains. If you delay me and he has a cardiac event in his office, you’ll be the one named in the wrongful death suit.”
The guard blinked, intimidated by the white coat and the heavy equipment Jack was carrying. “Sorry, Doc. Fourth floor, Suite 410. He’s been in a mood all morning.”
“Medical privacy is more important than his mood,” Eleanor snapped, stepping into the elevator.
