Not long after Tess’s C-section was on put on hold, Hollis Sinclair received an urgent phone call from one of his moles in the ICU. Before he’d stormed out of his house, he’d called Helen and left her a message that he needed to meet with her urgently. By the time he’d reached the hospital, he had left two more.
It normally took him twenty-five minutes to make the drive to Southeastern State University. On this particular morning, he made it in fifteen. He parked in the overflow doctors’ lot behind the hospital. He slammed his door shut and quick-walked toward the entrance. This was one morning he had no interest in courting the press. To his dismay, fifty yards short of the entrance, he was descended upon by a drove of reporters. Over the cacophony of their questions, he raised his hand in a dismissive manner and kept walking.
“I have no comment on anything at this time.”
Finally, one reporter broke through the crowd. Walking backward, he practically blocked Sinclair’s path to the hospital. He shoved a microphone a few inches from his face.
“There are unconfirmed reports there’s been a breakthrough. Are you sure you have no comment, Doctor?”
“I have no knowledge of any breakthrough other than the one I’ve already discussed with you linking GNS to a virus.” His denial did nothing to quell the barrage of questions.
A reporter in the middle of the gaggle made her voice heard above the rest. “We have received an unconfirmed report that an operation is underway that could possibly cure GNS. Are you saying there’s no chance this could be true?” Sinclair stopped. A dozen more microphones were thrust in his face.
“It doesn’t make a difference if it’s true or not. You can’t cure a devastating viral infection like GNS with surgery; you need an antiviral drug.” He picked up his pace. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have patients to attend to.”
In a headlong charge of sorts, Sinclair managed to reach the hospital without answering any more questions. With his blood practically bubbling out of his veins, he stormed toward the back elevators. The moment he arrived, he slapped the Up button repeatedly. Waiting for the doors to open, he swore out loud that before the sun went down, he’d have Jack Wyatt’s and Madison Shaw’s collective asses in his briefcase.