Chapter 14 Are You Trying to Scare Me?
Ryan coasted through the rest of the day. He was about to leave and buy some acupuncture needles when Whitmore called.
The doctor wanted to thank him over dinner and ask his opinion on a few cases.
Ryan accepted. Going home meant playing Grace’s devoted husband in front of Henry. Dinner out would spare him a few hours of that.
Besides, Whitmore would have needles. He could probably buy a suitable set from him.
He took a cab to the restaurant, where Whitmore was waiting in a private dining room with his granddaughter, Lily.
She looked seventeen or eighteen, petite, with a delicate, heart-shaped face. A white T-shirt, black shorts, and sneakers gave her an easy, youthful air.
“Are you studying medicine, too, Ms. Whitmore?” Ryan asked.
“No,” her grandfather said with a smile. “She’s just finished her college admissions tests. Her parents are abroad on business, so she’s staying with me for a while. Please, call her Lily.”
Lily studied him with open curiosity.
“Grandpa says you’re a better doctor than he is. Is that true?”
“He’s being modest,” Ryan said. “Don’t take him too seriously.”
“I’m doing nothing of the sort. I watched you perform acupuncture and revise a prescription. That was more than enough to recognize how much you could teach me.”
Lily’s eyes brightened. She had never heard him praise another doctor so highly, let alone one this young.
During the meal, Whitmore brought out a sheet of paper.
“A formula I’ve been developing for severe varicose veins. I’d appreciate your opinion.”
Ryan studied the ingredients.
“The foundation’s sound, but the results will be limited in more severe cases. Add the medicinal vine—1.06 ounces—and increase the hundredheart herb to 0.88 ounces. That should make a difference.”
“The vine?”
Whitmore took back the paper. His food sat forgotten while he worked through the change.
At last, his expression cleared.
“Of course. Why didn’t I think of it?” He looked up. “Thank you, Mr. Carter. With your knowledge, you could be my teacher.”
“You can call me Ryan.”
Whitmore shook his head.
“You’ve guided me twice. Even one important lesson deserves respect. If I weren’t already committed to my own mentor’s tradition, I’d ask to study under you. Addressing you properly is the least I can do.”
Lily looked between them in amazement. Her grandfather wanted to learn from him.
Ryan let the matter drop. The older man clearly wasn’t going to budge.
As they finished eating, he asked about needles.
“I’m treating someone tomorrow. Do you have a set I could buy?”
“I have several excellent sets. Let me give you one.”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”
There was no point wasting time on a polite argument.
The clinic was nearby. After dinner, Whitmore took them there and showed Ryan his collection.
Ryan’s eyes lit up. These were far better than anything he could have bought from an ordinary supplier. He chose the set that felt best in his hands and thanked his host.
He was about to leave when hurried footsteps sounded at the entrance.
Four men came in. A man in his forties led the way. Behind him, two bodyguards supported a silver-haired man in his sixties.
The older man sagged between them, eyes closed. His face was crimson, his breathing shallow and rapid.
Whitmore hurried forward.
“Mr. Mercer!”
“Examine him,” the younger man ordered. “Save my father and I’ll pay you a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“Help him onto the bed.”
Whitmore began his examination. The crease between his brows deepened.
“Well?” Mercer demanded.
“His blood and energy are in turmoil. There’s damage to his internal organs. Has he suffered an internal injury?”
“Yes.” Hope sharpened Mercer’s voice. “Can you treat it?”
“I can’t promise a recovery with an injury like this. I can only do my best.”
Mercer’s expression darkened.
“You’re supposed to be one of the finest physicians in the country. What does ‘do my best’ mean? If your reputation is a fraud, say so. I’ll find someone else. Don’t waste time my father doesn’t have.”
He stepped closer.
“If you can save him, do it. You’ll be rewarded. But if you start treating him and fail, don’t expect me to let it go.”
Whitmore stiffened.
The threat was plain. Refuse, and Mercer could call him a fraud. He might even have the influence to close the clinic.
Accept, and he would be attempting a treatment he wasn’t confident he could complete.
No physician could guarantee every outcome. This injury, in particular, was beyond most of what he had encountered.
“We don’t have time for you to stand there,” Mercer snapped. “Can you save him or not?”
Whitmore hesitated, then made his decision.
His reputation wasn’t worth delaying the patient’s search for someone better equipped to help.
He opened his mouth to admit that.
Ryan spoke first.
“I’ve seen people beg a doctor to save someone. Threatening one into it is new.”
Mercer turned toward him.
“Who are you?”
Whitmore’s face brightened. How had he forgotten Ryan was there?
“This is Ryan Carter. He’s a physician, too.”
Mercer gave him a contemptuous once-over.
“Barely out of training, and you think you know everything. There’s a lot you haven’t seen, boy.”
He dismissed Ryan and turned back to Whitmore.
“So you can’t help. That celebrated reputation amounts to very little, doesn’t it? Perhaps this clinic doesn’t need to stay open.”
He gestured to the bodyguards.
“We’re leaving.”
They moved to lift his father.
“He has about fifteen minutes,” Ryan said.
Mercer stopped. When he turned, his eyes were cold.
“Are you trying to scare me?”