The Heiress They Left To Die Chapter 03
The next morning, at the time Ethan had set, I went up to the VIP suite on the top floor of St. Catherine’s.
Two people were waiting outside the door.
Richard — the man who ran Hawthorne Group. My biological father. My biological mother, Margaret, stood beside him, poised and elegant.
“You’re Dr. Ava Blackwood?”
I nodded. “That’s me.”
Margaret looked me over, then gave a small nod.
“I’m Josie’s mother. Ethan has told us about you.”
“Dr. Blackwood, Josie is our precious daughter. We asked you here in good faith today.”
She reached into her bag, took out a business card, and held it out to me.
I didn’t take it.
Her hand hung in midair for a moment. She wasn’t offended — she simply set the card down on the side table.
“If you cure Josie, we can take care of every problem you’re facing right now.”
“St. Catherine’s? We can have the board reconsider your position. The noise online? Our PR team can bury it.”
She kept her eyes on me, her voice even and gentle.
“Every hospital board Hawthorne Group influences — research funds, philanthropic programs — they can all open their doors to you.”
“That’s the Hawthornes’ good faith to you.”
I looked at her.
Everything she was offering sounded very appealing.
Unfortunately, I already had all of it. And the circles I could walk into, she couldn’t buy her way into even if she gutted Hawthorne down to the walls.
“Mrs. Hawthorne. I’m here today as Josie’s attending physician. Everything else can wait until the examination is done.”
Margaret’s face tightened for the briefest moment, then smoothed out again.
Richard finally spoke. Blunter than his wife by a mile.
“Dr. Blackwood. Your reputation is already destroyed. St. Catherine’s fired you. Social media is a wall of your scandal. This livestream, which you asked for, is your last chance to salvage a career. The cameras are already in position.”
“Cure Josie, and the Hawthornes will put you back on your feet.”
“Fail — or pull anything on camera — and I promise you, you will never set foot in another hospital again.”
I looked at him and smiled.
“Mr. Hawthorne. Whether a patient can be treated is something we determine after the examination.”
Richard’s expression darkened.
I walked past both of them and pushed open the door.
Inside, Josie lay in bed, still wearing that fragile, delicate face. A soft blanket was pulled over her, an IV taped to the back of her hand. She looked like she’d shatter if you touched her.
Ethan was on the couch, a paring knife in his hand, peeling an apple.
He barely lifted his eyes when I walked in.
I clocked the red light behind the sliding panel. I took out my phone, tapped into the livestream link Hawthorne’s PR team had just pushed out, and muted the audio.
The stream title sat right at the top:
Cold-Blooded Doctor Ava Blackwood Forced to Face the Dying Heiress She Refused to Save
The Hawthornes had spent the entire night before dragging my name through X and TikTok. Less than ten minutes into the broadcast, the viewer count had already crossed a million.
The chat was one long wave of venom aimed at me.
This bitch gets to call herself a doctor? Pull her license and throw her in jail!
Ava Blackwood is trash in a white coat. Takes bribes, refuses patients, and struts around like a pro. If Josie dies, she’s the killer.
Josie is heartbreaking. Imagine having to face this cold-blooded monster on top of everything else.
Josie had no idea millions of eyes were locked onto her.
She saw me and flinched.
“Ethan…”
“Don’t be scared. She’s just here to examine you.”
Ethan set the peeled apple within her reach, stood up, and crossed to me. His voice dropped into a warning.
“Dr. Blackwood. Get started.”
“If you can’t fix my sister, you’re out of medicine. Permanently.”
I ignored him. I walked to the bedside, picked up my stethoscope, and looked at Josie.
“Relax. Breathe normally.”
Josie was cooperative — but she made her breathing heavier than it needed to be, brows knit, one hand pressed to her chest as if every breath cost her something.
I listened to her heart, checked her blood pressure, her heart rate, the monitor readouts.
Then I picked up the thick stack of medical reports beside the bed.
Over the years, the Hawthornes had taken her to a lot of hospitals and hired a lot of private specialists. The reports were peppered with heart failure, myocardial ischemia, arrhythmia — each diagnosis darker than the last.
I flipped through them for five minutes, brow furrowed, then tossed them back onto the table.
“Josie. This condition of yours really is difficult to treat.”
Ethan gave a cold, immediate laugh.
“Meaning what? Dr. Blackwood, aren’t you the top cardiologist in the country? Even you can’t treat my sister?”
“I’m starting to think you faked your way into that reputation!”
In my pocket, the livestream comments were flying again:
See? She can’t do it. Top doctor my ass, all packaging!
This is because she refused to see Josie yesterday — she made her worse! Yank her license, this woman shouldn’t be near any patient!
None of it touched me. I looked calmly at Ethan and said:
“Your sister isn’t sick.”