Chapter 7 Did I Say I Was Going to Fire You?
Ximena Gonzalez's POV:
I froze.
She... she wanted me to get on my knees?
"What? Won't do it?" Brenda's smile turned vicious as she tucked the envelope back into her pocket. "Fine. Keep your pride. Just wait for the board's notice."
She turned to leave, but a low voice suddenly cut through the hallway.
"Wait for what?"
I whirled around. Albert stood not far behind me. I had no idea how long he'd been there.
Brenda's steps halted. Her expression stiffened.
Albert walked over and stopped in front of her, looking down at her from his height.
"Brenda, I heard everything you just said."
Brenda's face went pale. "Dr. Albert, I... I didn't mean it like that. I was just..."
"Just what?" Albert cut her off. "Just abusing your authority to humiliate a colleague?"
"I..."
"That recommendation letter in your hand—what does it say?" Albert extended his hand. "Let me see it."
Brenda clutched the envelope tighter, but Albert simply reached out and pulled it from her grasp.
He scanned the paper inside, then folded it expressionlessly and slipped it into his own pocket.
"I'll submit this recommendation to the board myself," he said. "But my version will include a note about your behavior today."
Brenda could barely stand. "Dr. Albert, I was wrong. I really..."
"Ximena." Albert turned to me. "Come to my office."
I followed him into his office. The moment the door closed behind me, my legs nearly gave out.
"Sit." Albert gestured to the chair across from his desk.
I walked over and sat down, head lowered.
Albert poured a glass of water and set it in front of me.
"Drink."
I lifted the glass with trembling hands and took a sip.
"You made three mistakes this afternoon."
My heart sank.
"I heard about the complaint too. Under normal circumstances, those errors would warrant suspension pending investigation."
I stared at the glass, silent.
"But you explained about your grandmother." Albert's voice softened slightly. "I believe you."
My taut nerves trembled. Tears burned behind my eyes.
"But I need you to tell me—in your current state, can you continue working?"
I opened my mouth to say yes, but the lie stuck in my throat.
The horrific images from that video wouldn't disappear just because I put on scrubs. They could surface at any moment, affecting my work. I couldn't gamble with patients' lives.
"No." Tears spilled down my cheeks. I was too fragile to hold them back.
"Dr. Albert, I... I really can't right now. I'm afraid I'll make another mistake. If there's a medical accident, it won't just be a complaint. I can't put patients at risk."
I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, took a deep breath, and looked up at him.
"But please, this job—I worked so hard to get it. I can't..."
"Did I say I was firing you?" Albert interrupted.
I stared at him.
Albert opened a drawer and pulled out an envelope, sliding it across the desk.
I looked down. It read: Leave of Absence.
"Hospital policy allows employees who've worked continuously for one year to apply for paid leave," Albert said.
"You've been in the surgical ward for over two years. You've accumulated about fifteen days of leave. I've already approved it, starting tomorrow."
The overwhelming relief left me speechless.
"Is fifteen days enough?" Albert asked.
I nodded frantically, tears streaming down my face.
"Fifteen days, then." Albert stood, walked around the desk, and pressed something into my hand.
I looked down. A pack of tissues.
"Clean yourself up," he said.
Then he returned to his desk, sat down, and opened a file in front of him, as if the matter was settled.
I pulled out a tissue and wiped my face, clutching the rest in my palm as I stood.
"Dr. Albert."
"Mm."
"Thank you," I said. "For the bail money. For everything. I'll pay you back. All of it."
Albert didn't look up. His voice came from behind the file. "Handle your situation first. The money can wait."
I gathered my things, left the hospital, and stood outside Grandma's room. Then I started making calls.
One after another, I dialed everyone I could think of. A few agreed to lend small amounts. Most politely declined.
Everyone had their own lives. I understood. But each rejection felt like another stone pressing down on my chest.
I sat in a corner of the hospital hallway for two hours, making over thirty calls.
I managed to scrape together less than eighty thousand dollars.
Combined with my own thirty thousand, that made a hundred and ten thousand.
Still ninety thousand short of two hundred thousand.
I rested my phone on my knees and tilted my head back, staring at the ceiling. Tears slid down my temples.
Even if I listed Grandma's house for sale right now, the paperwork would take at least ten days to two weeks. The mob had given me three days.
Where was I supposed to get two hundred thousand dollars in three days?
My phone buzzed again.
I looked down. Unknown number.
My heart raced. I hesitated, finger hovering over the screen, then answered.
"Miss Ximena." That same low voice. "How's the money coming along?"
"Three days aren't up yet," I said. "I'll figure it out."
"Figure it out?" He laughed.
"We don't just want money. Mateo owes us more than cash—he owes us a debt. If you really can't come up with the money, there's another option."
I gripped the phone tighter. "What option?"
"You're not bad-looking." His tone turned slimy, like something wet crawling through the receiver. My skin crawled.
"Our boss says if you're willing, we can cut you a deal. The timeline can be extended too."
Blood rushed to my head. My ears rang.
"You mean..."
"I mean, come spend a few days with our boss. We'll cut the debt in half and give you a month instead of three days. How's that? Pretty generous, right?"
Rage flooded through me.
"Go to hell! Don't insult me with this garbage! I'd rather take out a loan from a loan shark!"
The man on the other end laughed.
"You think loan sharks aren't us? Half the underground lenders in this city are ours. Whoever you borrow from, it all circles back to us."
I ground my teeth so hard they creaked.
"Three days," he said, his voice turning cold again. "Three days from now, you either bring cash or you come yourself. Your choice."
The line went dead.
I slumped against the wall, my head buzzing.
What do I do?
Grandma, what do I do...
I turned toward her room, tears blurring my vision. Her hair looked whiter. Her body so frail, like paper. I was terrified a gust of wind might blow her away.
I sat in that hallway all night. At dawn, I went downstairs to my car.
Call the police.
I had to call the police.
That was my conclusion after a sleepless night of thinking.
If I reported it, Mateo would go to prison. But at least he'd be alive.
If I didn't, he might not survive.
As for Grandma...
Maybe she'd blame me. But I'd take the scolding, the anger—anything. At least Mateo would be alive.
I took a deep breath and dialed emergency services.
The line connected quickly.
"Hello, I need to report a crime. My uncle's been kidnapped by the mob. They're demanding two hundred thousand dollars. If I don't pay within three days, they'll—"
A sharp hissing sound came from behind me.
I spun around.
My car was smoking.
Sparks flew.
Then—BOOM!
