Framed Before the First Cut

I had been an emergency physician for almost ten years.

I had always valued my patients' lives more than my own.

So when the department called, I barely hesitated.

I immediately turned around and headed back.

But just as I was about to reach the emergency building entrance, floating comments suddenly appeared out of nowhere before my eyes.

I froze.

I shook my head and rubbed my eyes desperately, wondering if too many night shifts had finally broken my brain.

But the comments were still rolling steadily above my head.

[It's over. The moment you step into the operating room, they will announce the patient's death.]

[They are waiting for you to go in and become the scapegoat.]

[The entire operating room will cover for the hospital director's daughter, Olivia Hart, and accuse you of causing the patient's death through surgical error.]

[Be careful!]

My mouth fell open.

Olivia Hart had been my roommate for four years in medical school and my closest friend.

Why would she choose me as the scapegoat?

Countless questions spun through my mind, and for a moment, I had no idea what to do.

Just then, I heard passersby nearby discussing the accident at the intersection.

"Did you see it? A Bentley with 8888 plates drove straight into the river."

"The owner has already been sent into resuscitation. Must be someone important."

At that exact moment, my phone buzzed twice more.

It was Olivia.

"Evelyn, where are you? Hurry up!

"The pre-op prep is done. We are only waiting for you to scrub in!

"Move faster. I am waiting for you outside the operating room!"

Looking at those three urgent messages, my blood nearly froze.

Could there really be such a coincidence?

A patient with a powerful background.

Olivia urging me to hurry onto the table.

Once I calmed down and thought it through, this was supposed to be an ordinary emergency case.

There were so many on-duty doctors in the emergency department.

Why did they absolutely need me, a doctor who had just finished a night shift, to rush back for surgery?

The more I thought about it, the more believable the floating comments became.

Once I changed into scrubs, from that moment on, I would become a lamb waiting for slaughter.

The patient's death would all be pinned on me.

With every colleague testifying against me, there would be no way to clear my name.

I did not dare keep thinking about it.

The more I thought, the more a chill crawled up my spine.

I looked at Olivia's messages and did not reply immediately.

Almost ten minutes had passed since I received the notice.

A decision flashed through my mind.

Since the comments said I would be framed, then I would gamble on them.