Chapter 5 - THE HUNT FOR DR. CHEN
The rain had returned to New York, washing the grit of Manhattan down into the subway grates as Marcus’s black armored Maybach cut through the morning traffic. Tariq sat in the back, squeezed between Marcus and Arthur Sterling, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
“Where are we going?” Tariq asked, staring out the tinted windows at the passing sea of umbrellas. “Are they taking me to juvenile detention?”
“Nobody is touching you, Tariq,” Marcus said, typing furiously on a secure tablet. “Dr. Chen is our key witness. The medical board won’t move forward with an indictment without her statement corroborating Kelly’s narrative. But she hasn't reported to work for three days. Her phone has been disconnected, and her apartment in Queens is dark.”
“Julian’s people got to her,” Sterling said grimly from the front seat, checking the mirror for tails. “Vanguard has enough leverage to buy silence or manufacture a disappearing act. If Kelly’s team gets Chen to sign an affidavit stating she was coerced by Marcus into letting Tariq touch the baby, the DA will issue an arrest warrant for Tariq before the sun sets.”
Tariq leaned forward, his mind firing through the details of that night in the ER. “Dr. Chen wouldn't lie. She had tears in her eyes when she held Leo. She cares about kids. People who care about their work don't sell out for money unless they're scared.”
Marcus looked at the boy, impressed by his emotional acuity. “Fear is Julian’s specialty. We need to find her before Kelly’s lawyers put a pen in her hand.”
“Check St. Jude’s Hospice on 118th Street,” Tariq said suddenly.
Marcus stopped typing. “Why would she be there?”
“The night my mom died,” Tariq said softly, his gaze drifting back to the cold rain outside, “Dr. Chen was the only doctor from the hospital who showed up. She didn't come in a white coat. She came in jeans and brought a casserole. She told my mom that she understood what it was like to watch someone slip away without being able to afford the cure. She mentioned her sister was at St. Jude’s with early-onset Alzheimer’s. She goes there every Friday to feed her lunch.”
Marcus stared at Tariq, stunned by the sheer depth of the boy's memory. While the doctors had treated him like invisible background noise in the ER, Tariq had been collecting pieces of their lives, filing them away with photographic precision.
“Turn the car around, Arthur,” Marcus ordered. “Head to 118th. Step on it.”
Ten minutes later, the Maybach pulled into the narrow alleyway behind St. Jude’s Hospice. The building was an old brick convent converted into an end-of-life care facility, smelling of floor wax, boiled tea, and stale lilies.
They found Dr. Sarah Chen sitting in a small, windowless staff breakroom on the third floor. She looked like she hadn't slept in seventy-two hours. Her hair was pulled back in an unkempt bun, dark purple crescents hung under her eyes, and her scrubs were rumpled. On the laminate table before her lay a manila envelope bearing the embossed seal of Vanguard Health Group, alongside a three-page non-disclosure agreement and a cashier's check for five hundred thousand dollars.
She looked up when the door opened. When she saw Tariq, she let out a broken, shuddering sob and covered her face with her hands.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah whispered through her fingers. “I’m so sorry, Tariq.”
“Dr. Chen,” Marcus said, stepping into the room, his imposing presence shrinking the small space. “Did Kelly give you that?”
Sarah dropped her hands, her eyes red and swollen. “Kelly didn't come. Julian Wellington did. He came to my home, Marcus. He told me that if I testified before the board that the baby had flatlined and that this boy performed an emergency resuscitative maneuver, Vanguard would revoke my hospital privileges, call in my student loans, and transfer my sister out of this facility into a state-run warehouse in upstate New York.”
She picked up the cashier’s check with trembling fingers. “They gave me until 2:00 p.m. to sign the statement claiming Tariq was an intruder who acted recklessly, and that I was incapacitated by shock. If I sign it, my sister’s care is paid for life. If I don't... they destroy me.”
Marcus walked to the table, picked up the cashier’s check, and tore it in half without a second of hesitation. He tossed the pieces into the trash bin.
“Marcus, you don't understand!” Sarah cried, grabbing his sleeve. “They will ruin me!”
“Vanguard owns the debt on this building,” Marcus said coldly, pulling his smartphone from his pocket. “Arthur, call my acquisitions desk. Buy the outstanding commercial mortgage on St. Jude’s Hospice. Then wire ten million dollars to create a perpetual trust for the Alzheimer’s wing in Sarah Chen’s sister’s name.”
Sarah stared at him, her mouth agape. “You... you can't just do that.”
“I’m Marcus Wellington, Dr. Chen. I don't negotiate with bullies; I buy them.” Marcus leaned down, placing both hands on the table, locking eyes with the physician. “I don't need you to lie for me. I don't need you to protect my company. I need you to tell the absolute truth to the medical board. I need you to tell them that this boy saw what you and Kelly were blind to, and that he saved my son’s life.”
Sarah looked at Marcus, then turned to look at Tariq. The boy was standing by the door, his amber eyes clear, carrying no anger, only an understanding that no fourteen-year-old should possess.
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“Your mother would be so proud of you, Tariq,” Sarah whispered, wiping a tear from her cheek. She picked up the unsigned non-disclosure agreement, tore it into quarters, and threw it over the check. “Let’s go to the board.”
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