Part 3Not Qualified to Save You

By nightfall, Brandon’s stream had topped the regional trending charts across TikTok and local news forums.

The headlines grew more lurid with every repost:

Rogue Woman in Stolen Doctor's Coat Paralyzes Elderly Patient.

Unlicensed Imposter Refuses to Apologize at Mercy General.

Every thumbnail featured a high-res capture of my face.

Someone had even turned the freeze-frame of me patting my blank chest pocket into a viral GIF, captioned: Keep acting, sweetie.

Back in the hospital, Lewis had security cordon off the small conference room next to Patient Relations. He glared at me, his patience frayed to a thread.

"Do you have a state ID on you?"

I reached into the pockets of the lab coat and produced a driver’s license, a pharmacy copay receipt, a pickup ticket for the dispensary, and a crushed, lint-covered peppermint.

Brandon, who had barged his way to the doorway with his phone still streaming, zoomed in on the counter.

"Look at that! She’s got billing slips and clinic receipts! She had free rein over the entire building yesterday—who knows how many other vulnerable seniors she experimented on?"

Lewis looked like he wanted to jump out a window. "Mr. Hayes, cease recording or security will remove you from this wing."

Brandon sneered. "Remove me? How about you explain to the public what she’s doing in your uniform? Who is she?"

Lewis was trapped. He opened his mouth, closed it, and finally turned his glare back onto me.

"If you are an employee of this health system, consider yourself immediately suspended pending an internal review. If you are not, we will be pressing charges for criminal trespass, impersonation of medical personnel, and disturbing the peace. In the meantime, you are not permitted to leave these premises."

I gave him a placid nod. "Sounds fair."

Outside the door, Brenda’s weeping escalated, her body draped dramatically over George’s gurney. "Look at her! Not a shred of remorse! My poor George's life is over, and she sits there like she's waiting for a bus!"

The crowd that had followed them down the hall chimed in:

"Make her apologize!"

"Force her to her knees!"

"Where are the police? Lock her up!"

Brandon stared at me through his lens, smelling blood. He knew he had the narrative locked down.

"Paige Mitchell, I’m asking you one simple question. On the record."

I looked at him.

"Do you hold a valid license to practice medicine in this state?"

I shook my head. "No."

The live chat detonated. A torrent of HOLY SHIT, SHE CONFESSED, and INDICT HER scrolled past so fast it blurred into static.

Brandon’s hand shook with raw, performative triumph. "You all heard it! From her own mouth! No license, no credentials, yet she put on a doctor's coat and approached my father! She butchered him!"

Brenda buried her face into the gurney, wailing as if the sky had collapsed. George let out two dry, wheezing coughs right on cue, a rattled groan vibrating in his throat.

I watched them, my brow furrowing slightly.

The choreography was almost breathtaking. It was so tight, so seamless, it could only have been rehearsed.

Brandon thrust his free hand toward me. "Paige Mitchell. You apologize to my father right now. You sign an admission of fault and an initial settlement agreement. Do that, and maybe I won't ask the district attorney to pursue maximum felony charges."

I tilted my head. "Who gave you the impression you have that kind of leverage?"

Brandon’s smug face froze. He clearly hadn't anticipated that I would still talk back.

The murmurs outside grew vicious:

"Is she braindead?"

"She doesn't even comprehend reality."

"Why was someone like this allowed out on the street?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but a frigid, familiar voice cut through the corridor like a scalpel.

"Paige Mitchell."

My spine instantly locked up.

Oh, hell.

The security guards parted.

Dr. Joanne Bailey walked into the room. She was wearing her own pristine white coat, holding a thick brown manila folder containing my medical file. Her face was carved from granite.

She looked at my face, and then her eyes dropped to the coat I was wearing.

"So that’s where my spare coat went yesterday."

She stepped directly in front of me, enunciating every syllable:

"Paige. Did you seriously steal my spare uniform just to wander the corridors instead of showing up for your scheduled psychiatric evaluation?"

The entire hallway went dead silent.