The Surgeon’s Wife Chapter 06

The Surgeon’s Wife Chapter 06

The FBI took Ethan out of Whitfield Medical in handcuffs at 11:47 AM.

I know the exact time because every news helicopter in the tri-state area was hovering above the hospital, broadcasting the perp walk live.

He tried to hide his face. The agents didn’t let him.

They marched him through the main lobby-the same lobby where his portrait hung on the “Distinguished

Physicians” wall, the same lobby where he’d held press conferences about his groundbreaking surgical

techniques, the same lobby where he’d stood beside me at our wedding reception and toasted to “the future of

Whitfield Medical.”

That portrait was already being taken down.

I watched from the window of my suite, five floors up. Lena stood beside me, arms crossed.

“Mia’s been picked up too,” she said, checking her phone. “Customs grabbed her trying to use a fake passport at JFK. A fake passport, Cora. She actually had a fake passport ready.”

“Of course she did. She’s been planning her escape route as long as she’s been planning my murder.”

My phone buzzed. Raymond Park.

“The FBI has formally opened three cases,” he said. “Attempted murder, insurance fraud, and conspiracy.

They’re also reopening the Boston widow case. Her family is cooperating fully.”

“What about the medical board?”

“Emergency hearing scheduled for Friday. But it’s a formality at this point. Ethan’s license will be revoked. Every hospital in the country has already blacklisted him.”

I let out a long breath. The pain in my abdomen had dulled to a persistent ache-manageable, almost grounding.

“Raymond, there’s one more thing I need.”

“Name it.”

“The charity fund Mia was stealing from. I want a full forensic audit. Every dollar traced, every shell company exposed. And I want the results made public.”

“That fund provides free surgeries for children, Cora. When people find out she was stealing from sick kids-”

“Exactly.”

There was a pause. “You really aren’t pulling any punches.”

“She helped plan my murder, Raymond. She notarized the forged will that would have let Ethan inherit everything. She knew he was going to kill me on that table, and she smiled about it in the parking garage.

“No. I’m not pulling any punches.”

That afternoon, I did something I’d been putting off.

I discharged myself from the hospital.

Lena protested. Uncle James protested. Even Raymond, over the phone, suggested I “take a few more days”

But I was done lying in a bed in the building where my husband had tried to murder me.

I walked out of Whitfield Medical’s front entrance at 4:00 PM, flanked by Lena and two private security guards

Uncle James had arranged.

The press was waiting. Of course they were.

Cameras flashed. Reporters shouted questions. Microphones were shoved toward my face.

1 stopped at the top of the entrance steps and looked out at the crowd.

I was wearing a simple black dress-not mourning clothes, but close enough. The bandage on my forehead was visible. I looked pale, thin, and exactly like what I was: a woman who had survived an attempt on her life

by the person who was supposed to protect her.

“Dr. Whitfield! Can you confirm the allegations against your husband?”

“Dr. Whitfield! Is it true he tried to kill you during surgery?”

“Dr. Whitfield! Where is your sister Mia?”

I raised one hand. The crowd went quiet.

“I will make a full statement at the appropriate time,” I said, my voice carrying clearly across the steps. “For now, I want to say one thing.”

I looked directly into the nearest camera.

“Whitfield Medical was built by my father to save lives. That mission has not changed. I am resuming my role as CEO and sole trustee, effective immediately.”