Fired, Then 3x Salary

Answering an emergency call got me reported for a bad attitude, and my department head fired me on the spot.
The patient's mother gloated, Good. You deserve to be unemployed.
So I walked away and took a job at a private institute for triple the salary.
The next day, that same mother burst into my new ER, clutching her child. "Please, I'm begging you, save my son!"
Her son had a rare disease. Only three doctors in the entire city knew how to treat it.
Two of them were overseas.
The third one was me.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm no longer a doctor at your hospital."
My old department head showed up with the hospital president. "Name your price! Anything!"
I pointed at the mother. "I want her on her knees outside my mother's ICU room until the day my mother walks out of it."
Three months later, I took half of my old department's doctors with me.

01
It was two in the morning, and the emergency room at City General Hospital was a gaping, unhealing wound in the belly of the sleeping metropolis.
The air was a thick, suffocating cocktail of antiseptic, iron-rich blood, and the sour tang of vomit.
The hallways were crammed with temporary gurneys. A desperate symphony of moans, coughs, the anxious whispers of families, and the incessant, rhythmic beeping of monitors filled the space.
I was wearing a white coat stained with blood and God knows what else, having been on my feet for eighteen consecutive hours.
The soles of my feet felt like I was walking on shattered glass; every step was a fresh stab of pain.
My eyelids were leaden weights. A relentless, pounding drumbeat throbbed at my temples. My brain felt like it was pickling in formaldehydedull, slow, and numb.
I was in the middle of administering a nebulizer treatment to a patient having a severe asthma attack when my phone began to vibrate violently, as if possessed.
The screen lit up with the caller ID: "Nanny." Beneath it, a glaring notification: 12 Missed Calls.
My heart plummeted. A cold dread seized my throat.
I answered, and the nanny's hysterical sobs exploded through the receiver. "Dr. Ross! Your mother her heart it stopped! The ambulance isn't here yet!"
BOOM.
My mind went blank. The world fell silent, replaced by a high-pitched ringing in my ears.
The nebulizer mask slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor.
It took me a few seconds to find my voice, and when I did, it was a ragged, trembling mess. "Now! Start chest compressions, now! The way I showed you! Push hard! Don't stop!"
My voice was shrill with terror, completely out of control.
A woman holding a child, who had been glaring at me with impatience, shot to her feet.
Her name was Sharon. I remembered her. Her son had a simple fever, but she'd been raising hell in the ER for two hours.
"Doctor! Have you no professional ethics? My son has been waiting with a fever for two hours, and you have time to be on a personal call?" Her voice was sharp and acidic, every word a poison-tipped dart.
Tears of panic were welling in my eyes. I couldn't spare her a glance. I screamed into the phone, "Push hard! Do you hear me? Don't stop! Whatever you do, don't stop!"
"What is this attitude?" Sharon suddenly raised her phone, the camera pointed directly at me. "This is how City General treats its patients? I'm reporting you! I'm putting this all over the news!"
My eyes were bloodshot. I was practically begging. "My mother is in cardiac arrest. Can you please, just let me finish this call?"
"Everyone has emergencies!" Sharon sneered, her face a mask of spiteful righteousness. "So your mom is in a rush, but my son isn't? If my son's brain gets damaged from this fever, are you going to take responsibility? Why is your emergency more important than his? You're just trying to slack off!"
Her words were a poisoned blade, twisting into my most vulnerable spot.
Just then, the department head, Dr. Evans, arrived, drawn by the commotion.
The practiced, bureaucratic smile on his face vanished the moment he saw the video Sharon was recording.
He yanked me into a nearby office, the door slamming shut behind us, muffling the chaos outside.
"Lena," he began, wringing his hands, his face a mask of deep disappointment. "Look at this. The optics are terrible. Doctor-patient relations are so tense right now. You're making the hospital look bad."
I was shaking all over, my voice choked with sobs. "Sir, my mom she's in cardiac arrest, I"
"That's enough," Dr. Evans cut me off, his tone shifting to cold and clinical. "You're suspended, effective immediately. Come in tomorrow to handle your termination paperwork."
I looked up, incredulous, feeling as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. "What what did you just say?"
Dr. Evans avoided my eyes, his gaze fixed on a plaque of hospital regulations on the wall. "You're not a rookie, Lena. You know how important the patient relationship is. My hands are tied. I have to placate the family."
The office door burst open. My colleague, Dr. Cole, stormed in, his face livid. "Sir! Dr. Ross has worked three straight double shifts! Her mother is dying, and you're going to"
"Enough!" Dr. Evans waved his hand dismissively, as if shooing a fly. "This is the hospital's decision! It's final!"
From the doorway, Sharon poked her head in, a triumphant smirk plastered across her face. "That's more like it. A bad attitude deserves to be punished. She deserves to be unemployed."
That smile was a physical pain in my eyes.
I bit my lip so hard I could taste the metallic tang of blood.
Without a word, I tore off the heavy, stained white coatthe one that carried the blood and fluids of strangersand threw it onto Dr. Evans's pristine desk.
Then, I turned and ran.
"Lena!" Dr. Cole yelled after me.
But I was already in the elevator.
The doors slid shut, sealing me off from the world.
The stark, white light of the hospital corridor was sliced into a thin line, then vanished.
In the small, silent box, I leaned against the cold metal wall, the strength draining out of me all at once.
And finally, the tears came.

02
I ran into Central Medical Center like a madwoman.
The red light above the ICU pulsed like an ominous eye in the bleached-white hallway.
Our nanny was waiting by the doors, her eyes swollen shut. Seeing me, she broke down completely. "The doctors said they said it's really bad"
The heavy automatic doors slid open, and a doctor in green scrubs emerged.
When I saw his face, I froze.
It was Mark. My ex-boyfriend.
He looked at me without a flicker of emotion. The eyes that had once held so much love for me were now filled with nothing but professional detachment.
"Family? You need to sign here." His voice was flat, devoid of any feeling.
My hand trembled as I took the pen. The words on the page danced and blurred before my eyes.
"How how is she?" My voice was a broken whisper.
Mark's tone was as clinical as if he were reading a weather report. "Acute myocardial infarction. She missed the golden window for resuscitation. The prognosis is not good."
My knees buckled. I had to grab the wall to keep from collapsing.
"It's my fault it's all my fault I wasn't there in time" A tidal wave of guilt and self-loathing crashed over me.
Mark watched me, a flicker of something like scorn in his eyes. "You're a doctor, aren't you? How did you not know your own mother had a severe heart condition?"
My face was as white as a sheet. My lips moved, but no sound came out. "Her her check-ups were always normal. I didn't know I really didn't know"
"We'll observe her for the next 24 hours," he said, taking the signed form and turning to leave.
He took two steps, then paused and looked back. His next words were spoken softly, but they landed with the force of a physical blow.
"I heard you got fired from City General."
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I said nothing.
A corner of his mouth lifted in a sarcastic smirk. "You always said your career was more important than our relationship. Well, look at you now. You don't have a career anymore, either."
I closed my eyes, letting the hot tears trace cold paths down my cheeks.
The bench outside the ICU was hard and cold.
I pulled my thin jacket tighter around me and didn't sleep a wink.
At 5 a.m., my phone lit up. It was a text from Dr. Cole.
It's all over the department. Dr. Evans singled you out in the morning meeting. Said you were a disgrace to the ER, a gross violation of professional ethics.
I stared at the words, a sharp pain lancing through my heart.
Another text followed.
The head nurse is telling everyone in the group chat that you got what you deserved. That you were always so aloof and never fit in, and now it's karma.
A smile that was more like a grimace stretched my lips.
My "aloofness" was just my refusal to play their political games, to join the gossip circles, to suck up to Dr. Evans, to sign off on unnecessary tests for patients.
In their eyes, that was being stuck-up.
At 8 a.m., the sun came up.
The hallway began to fill with people.
A few doctors I recognized from medical conferences walked past. They saw me sitting outside the ICU, but they averted their gazes and quickened their pace, pretending I wasn't there.
I even heard one of the younger nurses whisper to her friend, "Look, that's her. The one who got fired for offending a patient's family. She totally brought it on herself."
The whisper was quiet, but it drilled into my ears.
I didn't even have the strength to argue.
My phone chimed again. A text message.
It was my landlord.
Lena, rent is due this month.
I opened my banking app. The account balance was a glaring, negative red number.
I had forgotten. The hospital had already frozen my direct deposit.
The nanny brought me a bowl of steaming porridge. "Dr. Ross, you haven't eaten since yesterday. Please, have something"
I looked at the simple millet porridge in the thermos, exactly the way my mom always made it for me after a long night shift.
The tears started again, fat, uncontrollable drops splashing into the warm porridge, vanishing without a trace.
My life, it seemed, had been stirred into the same messy, indistinguishable pulp.

03
On the third morning, I was still keeping vigil outside the ICU, a soulless statue carved from grief.
A well-dressed, distinguished-looking man in his fifties walked toward me.
The nanny saw him and jumped to her feet. "Director Finch! What are you doing here?"
I recognized him. He was Dr. Alistair Finch, the president of the prestigious Sterling Institute, and one of my mother's old university classmates.
Dr. Finch's gaze settled on me, his deep-set eyes full of sympathy. "I heard about what happened with your mother. Lena, my dear, are you alright?"
I managed to pull the corners of my mouth into a stiff smile. "Thank you for your concern, Dr. Finch."
He dispensed with the pleasantries and got straight to the point. "Lena, I want you to come work for me at The Sterling Institute. Three hundred and fifty thousand a year, your own private clinic, and you can build your own team."
I was stunned, my mind struggling to process his words. "Dr. Finch, in my current situation"
"I know you were fired," he interrupted, his voice steady and firm. "But I'm hiring you for your skill as a physician, not for a work history that has been unjustly destroyed."
I shook my head, my voice hoarse. "Right now I can't even think about that"
Dr. Finch suddenly lowered his voice, and what he said next made the blood freeze in my veins.
"Don't you want to know why your mother's heart condition suddenly became so critical?"
My head snapped up. I stared at him. "What what do you mean?"
"She's been getting her arrhythmia medication from City General for a long time, correct?" Dr. Finch's gaze was sharp. "I've reviewed her chart. She had a minor arrhythmia. It should never have progressed to full cardiac arrest."
My breathing quickened. A terrible thought began to form. "But but all her recent check-ups were normal!"
Dr. Finch looked at me pointedly. "Normal check-up reports, but an abnormal reaction to her medication. Lena, the pharmaceutical procurement at City General it's a corrupt system."
All the color drained from my face.
I remembered. My mother had been complaining recently that the hospital's medication made her feel worse, that her heart raced more after taking it than before.
At the time, I dismissed it as a side effect. I told her to give it time.
How could I have been so careless?
"If you want to find the truth, you need a platform, one that isn't controlled by City General's politics," Dr. Finch said, his words like a key unlocking the door to vengeance in my heart. "My institute can give you that platform."
I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms. The sharp pain brought me a terrifying clarity.
"I accept," I said. My voice was quiet, but each word was laced with ice.
Dr. Finch nodded, satisfied. "Good. Come in tomorrow to sign the contract. I've already had it drawn up."
He turned to leave, then paused.
"By the way," he added. "The head of procurement at City General, a Director Jennings, just booked a twenty-thousand-dollar executive health screening package for his entire family at our institute last week."
I drew a sharp, ragged breath.
Director Jennings's salary was barely six figures. Where did he get that kind of money?
In that moment, I knew with absolute certainty: what happened to my mother was no accident.
It was an attack.
I looked through the thick glass of the ICU window at my mother, lying motionless, a tangle of tubes keeping her alive.
I made a silent vow.
Whoever did this to her, I would make them pay.
In blood.

04
The Sterling Institute was a gleaming thirty-two-story tower of glass and steel in the city's most affluent district, a modern temple of medicine.
There was none of the crowding, chaos, or despair of City General. Here, there was only quiet, light, and a reassuring sense of order.
The head of HR showed me to my new office.
"Dr. Ross, this is your private clinic. Two thousand square feet, fully equipped with the latest diagnostic technology imported from Germany."
I stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the river of traffic below. It felt like another world.
Just three days ago, I was fighting with a patient's family over a single gurney in an ER so cramped you could barely turn around.
The HR manager handed me a beautifully bound contract. "Dr. Ross, your base salary is three hundred and fifty thousand, with quarterly bonuses and project-based incentives. All benefits are at the highest tier."
I signed my name, "Lena Ross." The nib of the pen scratched against the paper.
It felt unreal, like a dream too good to be true.
Meanwhile, back at City General, the head nurse was showing her phone to Dr. Evans.
"Sir, look. That woman, Lena Ross, went to Sterling. I heard they're paying her three hundred and fifty grand a year," she said, her voice dripping with envy.
Dr. Evans took a sip from his thermos and sneered. "Private hospitals are all smoke and mirrors. They'll say anything to create buzz. Who does she think she is, some kind of miracle worker? Just wait. See how long she lasts."
Across town, in a neighborhood online group, Sharon was bragging about her "victory."
"You guys, that super rude doctor I told you about? I got her fired! That's how you deal with these people who take your money and don't do their jobs!"
The chat filled with likes and supportive comments.
"You go, Sharon! Someone had to teach them a lesson!"
"Exactly! We're the customers! They're supposed to provide a service! If they have a bad attitude, they shouldn't be doctors!"
Sharon beamed at her phone screen, then hugged her son and kissed his cheek. "See, baby? Mommy will always stand up for you."
She was so absorbed in her triumph that she didn't notice the unnatural flush on her son's face.
Back at the Sterling Institute.
Dr. Finch knocked and entered my office. "Lena, this is your team. Three assistants."
Three young people stood behind him.
One of them, a young woman, saw me and gasped. "Dr. Ross!"
I recognized her. It was Mia, one of my former medical students.
"Mia? What are you doing here?"
Mia shuffled her feet, embarrassed. "Dr. Ross, I I was also 'let go' from City General"
A warmth spread through my chest. I walked over and patted her shoulder. "It's alright. You're with me now. We're going to do great work here."
The other two assistants, both recent graduates, introduced themselves, their eyes shining with respect.
That afternoon, my first consult request arrived.
A VIP patient, the chairman of a major local corporation. He'd had a persistent high fever for three weeks, had been to every major hospital in the city, and undergone countless tests, all inconclusive.
I studied the thick file of medical records, my brow furrowing.
"Let me see the patient," I said to Mia.
In the hospital room, the family crowded around me, their faces etched with anxiety. A middle-aged woman with red-rimmed eyes grabbed my arm. "Doctor, please, you have to save my father! Money is no object!"
I approached the bed. The patient was semi-conscious, his breathing shallow.
I began a thorough physical examination. As my fingers touched his fingertips, I noticed a subtle detail that had clearly been overlookedslight clubbing at the ends of his fingers.
The name of an extremely rare but highly fatal disease flashed in my mind.
I looked up, my voice firm and unwavering. "Prep for a bronchoscopy, now. And run a serum G-test and GM-test, stat!"

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