Chapter 16 Fool!
Victor turned to his father.
“Dad…”
The old man glared at him.
“Mr. Carter saved my life. Is this how you repay him? And Dr. Whitmore has saved more people than you could count. If he hadn’t been able to help me, that would have been my misfortune. Since when do you threaten a doctor into promising a cure?”
Victor lowered his voice.
“I was worried about you. I offered Dr. Carter seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. He refused it.”
“Apologize.”
His father left no room for argument.
“You’ve spent so long looking down on people that you’ve forgotten how to treat them.”
Victor was plainly reluctant, but he wasn’t about to defy him.
He faced the two physicians.
“Dr. Carter. Dr. Whitmore. I’m sorry. I was frightened for my father and spoke out of turn. Please forgive me.”
Ryan’s expression didn’t change.
“You can go.”
The older man motioned for a bodyguard to help him up. Then, despite his weakness, he inclined his body in a grateful bow.
“Mr. Carter, please forgive my son. You saved my life. When I’m well enough, I’ll come back and thank you properly.”
Ryan softened a little.
“There’s no need. I don’t work here, anyway. I stopped by for some needles and happened to be here when you arrived.”
The man looked surprised. Then he took the card from Victor and offered it himself.
“It may have been a small favor to you, but it meant everything to me. Please accept this as your fee. No strings attached. A doctor deserves to be paid for his work.”
His gratitude was sincere, and his manner respectful. Refusing him felt needlessly harsh.
Besides, Ryan had saved his life. There was nothing wrong with accepting payment.
“All right. Thank you.”
The old man visibly relaxed and turned to Whitmore.
“I’ll come back to thank you as well. With a proper gift.”
“You’re too kind, Mr. Mercer. I didn’t do anything.”
“You brought Mr. Carter here, didn’t you? Without that, I’d be dead.” He smiled. “I’m sixty-five, Doctor. I’d like a few more years.”
He produced a business card and handed it to Ryan.
“George Mercer. I’m chairman of our family’s business group. This is my son, Victor. If you need anything in Asheville, or run into trouble, call me.”
Ryan still disliked Victor, but George was another matter. The man had a way of making his gratitude feel personal rather than obligatory.
“I will.”
Whitmore prepared the herbs himself. After thanking them both again, George left with the bodyguards supporting him.
Ryan examined the business card.
“Are they really that powerful? Victor acted like he owned the city.”
“They have interests in healthcare, biotechnology, pharmaceuticals, and related industries. Controlling stakes in several hospitals, too. They have considerable influence here.”
“Enough to close your clinic?”
Whitmore gave a rueful smile.
“He wasn’t bluffing. My reputation counts for something, but his connections could make it very difficult for me to keep practicing.”
Ryan lifted the payment card.
“Want to split it?”
Whitmore shook his head at once.
“You treated the patient and defended my reputation. I can’t take your money. Please don’t embarrass me.”
Ryan chuckled.
“Then I’ll keep it. I should get going. Call if you need anything.”
“Wait, Mr. Carter.”
Lily had spoken from beside her grandfather. Her cheeks were pink.
Ryan turned.
“What is it?”
“Could we exchange numbers?”
“Of course.”
She brightened and hurried to take out her phone.
“Thank you, Mr. Carter.”
“Ryan is fine. We’re not that far apart in age.”
She smiled.
“Okay. Ryan.”
“Much better.”
Whitmore looked as though he might intervene, then thought better of it. His own respect for Ryan as a teacher didn’t have to dictate how Lily addressed him.
Besides, he could hardly object to his granddaughter making such a friend.
In a luxury sedan speeding away from the clinic, Victor finally asked the question that had been bothering him.
“Dad, I admit he’s a gifted doctor. But did you really have to go that far?”
George leaned against the seat, looking disappointed.
“How was I injured?”
“An enemy attacked you.”
“And what did he say afterward?”
Victor hesitated.
“He told me to prepare your funeral.”
George sighed.
“He used a palm technique powered by internal energy. An ordinary physician couldn’t have repaired that damage. I doubt I would even have reached an operating room alive.”
His voice remained quiet.
“He wanted me to suffer while I waited to die. That was the point.”
He looked directly at his son.
“Arthur Whitmore didn’t earn his reputation by accident. Yet he couldn’t help, and Ryan Carter treated me with ease. What does that tell you?”
“That Carter is a better doctor?”
“Fool!”