Chapter 8 - Dr. Mara Voss Faces Hard Questions About Her Certifications
The sharp metallic click of handcuffs snapping around Arthur Vance’s wrists echoed loudly through the luxury penthouse.
He didn't fight back; his legs had completely turned to jelly, requiring two marshals to support his weight.
As they hauled him toward the open elevator doors, Arthur cast one final, pathetic glance toward Celeste Larkin.
“Veyron will counter-sue for every penny you’re worth... the board won't let you get away with this,” he muttered.
“The board is currently being subpoenaed by a federal grand jury in Brooklyn,” Celeste replied coldly.
The elevator doors closed quietly behind the federal agents and their prisoner, whisking them down to the lobby.
Silence settled once again over the penthouse living room, though the heavy emotional air remained thick.
Dr. Mara Voss sat frozen in the velvet armchair, staring blankly at the expensive Persian rug beneath her feet.
Celeste turned slowly away from the elevator doors and walked over to stand directly in front of the doctor.
“Mara,” Celeste said, her voice dangerously devoid of its usual warmth.
“Ms. Larkin, I swear to you, I had no idea their quality assurance reports were falsified,” Dr. Voss blurted out.
“I trusted their clinical data just like every other rehabilitation clinic in Manhattan.”
“You certified that my daughter’s lack of progress was due to psychological resistance and muscular fatigue,” Celeste noted.
“I was repeating the manufacturer’s clinical guidelines for non-responsive patients!” Dr. Voss defended herself frantically.
Piper wheeled herself closer to the armchair, looking down at the doctor who had supervised her daily torture.
“Did you ever check the diagnostic logs yourself, Mara, or did you just read the summary sheets they emailed?”
Dr. Voss opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
The silence served as a full, damning confession.
“You trusted the machine more than you trusted your own patient,” Piper said quietly.
“Every time I told you my knee felt like it was tearing apart, you looked at your tablet and told me I was wrong.”
Tears spilled over Dr. Voss’s eyelids, tracking dark streaks of mascara down her pale cheeks.
“I wanted you to walk again, Piper... we all wanted that so badly that we ignored the warning signs.”
“Wishing for a miracle doesn't excuse medical negligence,” Celeste stated flatly.
“My legal team will be reviewing your clinic’s partnership agreement with Veyron by this afternoon.”
Dr. Voss covered her face with her hands and began to weep openly, realizing her career was effectively over.
Boone watched the dramatic collapse from his spot near the kitchen island, quietly packing his tools into his bag.
He didn't gloat.
He didn't offer comforting words.
He just zipped his canvas bag shut with a crisp, final zipper sound that seemed to punctuate the entire ordeal.
Celeste turned her attention away from the sobbing doctor and looked at the rugged mechanic standing by the counter.
“Boone,” Celeste said softly, her tone shifting from corporate executioner to grateful mother.
“You saved my daughter from months—maybe years—of ongoing physical injury.”
Boone hoisted his tool bag over his shoulder and shook his head dismissively.
“I just came to fix a hydraulic lift on the therapy platform, Ms. Larkin.”
“The lift can wait,” Celeste replied, walking over to her mahogany executive desk near the windows.
She opened a checkbook binder that looked like it belonged to a small sovereign nation.
“Name your price, Boone. Whatever Veyron was paying you in a year, multiply it by ten.”
May you like
Boone stopped walking toward the exit and looked directly at the billionaire matriarch.
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