Chapter 9 - The Ambulance Rides Through The Westchester County Night
The ambulance siren wailed softly as it navigated the winding, rain-slicked asphalt roads of upscale Westchester County.
Through the rear glass windows, the grand stone pillars of Mercer House faded slowly into the dark autumn foliage.
Paramedic Dave monitored my heart rate on the digital display, keeping a close eye on my blood pressure readings.
“You’ve got a remarkably strong pulse for a sixty-two-year-old who just survived a major fall, Mrs. Mercer,” Dave observed.
“When you spend thirty-four years auditing government corruption, you learn how to keep your heart steady under fire,” I replied.
The vehicle turned sharply into the brightly lit ambulance bay of Westchester Medical Center in Valhalla.
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Automatic doors slid open to reveal a team of orthopedic specialists waiting with a rolling gurney and diagnostic charts.
My journey from victim to prosecutor had officially reached its next critical phase inside a modern American hospital.
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