Part 3Dying For The Blood She Condemned

The room descended into utter chaos.

I stood up from my desk, my head spinning. "Sloan... what are you talking about?"

Sloan sat upright in her wheelchair, tears spilling over the bruising on her cheekbones, her voice cracking with calculated theatrical anguish.

"This morning I denied your time-off request," she shouted, projecting to the entire department. "You looked at me like you wanted me dead! You waited outside the parking deck, you followed my car, and you rammed me into the river! And while I was unconscious, you reached into my vehicle and stole my Cartier bracelet, my diamond studs, and the three thousand dollars in cash I had in my center console!"

The blood rushed from my limbs to my ears, creating a deafening white noise.

"I saved you!" I yelled, stepping out from behind my partition. "I jumped into that freezing canal! I picked up a rock, smashed through your driver’s side glass, broke your seatbelt with my bare hands, and dragged you out! The gash on my arm—look at it! It's from your broken window!"

I tore back the edge of the hospital gauze, revealing the raw, jagged tear still seeping red through the white cotton.

Sloan let out a bitter, mocking sneer, turning her wheelchair toward the crowd of colleagues staring in frozen disbelief.

"Look at her!" Sloan cried out, gesturing toward my ruined clothes. "She slipped out without authorization at noon! She comes back two hours late, soaking wet, covered in river mud, with lacerations on her arm! Who else was on that embankment? Who else would have injuries from broken automotive glass?"

"I was running to the clinic to do a confirmatory bone marrow match!" I pleaded, my voice shaking with outrage. "I took the river path on foot! I saw you crash! Northwestern Hospital has my blood draw logged from one o'clock! Call Dr. Wallace at the donor center—he'll tell you!"

"A bone marrow match?" Sloan laughed—a high, shrill sound dripping with contempt. "You're still clinging to that pathetic cover story? You think anyone believes an analyst makes a miraculous organ donation on her lunch break? You cased my route! You waited for me!"

The glass door to HR clicked open. Mr. Barnes, the vice president of human resources, stepped out holding a manila folder, his expression grim and bureaucratically detached.

"Rachel," Barnes said, not meeting my eyes. "The badge-reader logs show you exited the stairwell at twelve-oh-one and didn't badge back in until fourteen-thirty. The exterior perimeter cameras confirm you were walking rapidly toward the river canal."

"Because that's the pedestrian shortcut to the medical district!" I cried. "Check the cameras on the river trail! Check the footage of me jumping in!"

"There are no cameras on that section of the retaining wall, Rachel," Barnes replied coldly. "It's a municipal dead zone."

My stomach dropped through the floorboards.

Sloan leaned forward, lifting a copy of an incident report. "Motive: workplace retaliation. Opportunity: an unmonitored canal path. Physical evidence: soaking wet clothes, freshwater silt, and glass lacerations. Oh, and my personal belongings are missing."

She looked up at me, her gaze dead and triumphant.

"Rachel Miller, in front of this entire office, I am terminating your employment for gross misconduct and violent behavior. The state will handle the rest."

Before I could take another step, heavy footsteps echoed from the lobby. Two uniformed Chicago police officers walked in, their hands resting near their duty belts.

"Rachel Miller?" the lead officer asked, pulling out a pair of steel cuffs. "We have a report of aggravated assault, reckless endangerment, and grand larceny. Hands behind your back, please."

"Wait, please, you have to listen to me!" I said, backing up until my spine hit my cubicle desk. "I'm the one who pulled her out! I performed chest compressions on her! Ask the paramedics who brought her in!"

The officer took my uninjured arm, twisting it behind me with practiced efficiency. The steel clicked shut over my wrists.

I looked frantically around the bullpen. Four years. I had covered their shifts, brought them coffee, fixed their financial models, covered their mistakes when our superiors came hunting for blood.

Mark met my eyes for half a second. He opened his mouth, but Barnes caught him with a terrifying glare. Mark shrank down into his chair, his eyes dropping to his keyboard. Not a single person said a word.

As they walked me past the front desk, Sloan wheeled herself closer. The orderly paused. Sloan leaned her head in, her voice a poisonous whisper meant only for me.

"Ask for PTO again, bitch," she hissed softly. "Cross me, and this is where you end up."

I stared into her bruised, arrogant face.

The muddy river water had been freezing, but it was nothing compared to the absolute, arctic rot living inside this woman's chest.

I should have left the stone on the ground.

No. Saving a life wasn't wrong.

My only crime was dragging a monster out of the water.