Fired and Walking Home — Until Two Helicopters Landed Shouting “Where’s the Nurse?!”
The Counter-Attack
An hour later, Madeline Jenkins sat in the executive conference room of Air Force One. The contrast was jarring. 60 minutes ago, she was shivering in the rain with a cardboard box; now she was wearing a dry navy blue Secret Service windbreaker and sipping hot tea from a cup with the presidential seal.
President Kaine sat opposite her, reviewing a file his aides had just handed him. The little girl, Emily, had been airlifted to Walter Reed Medical Center by a specialized transport team. She was going to be fine.
“I’ve read your file, Madeline,” the President said, closing the folder. “20 years, perfect attendance, three commendations for valor during the pandemic, and not a single mark on your record until today.”
“Dr. Sterling is particular,” Madeline said diplomatically. “He believes the hierarchy of the hospital is more important than the intuition of the staff.”
“He believes he’s God,” Cain corrected her, his voice hard. “And today he tried to play God with my family by trying to send himself instead of the person we asked for.”
Before Madeline could respond, the chief of staff, a sharp woman named Elena, entered the room. She turned on the large monitor on the wall.
“Mr. President, Madeline, you need to see this. It’s trending. #WheresTheNurse is the number one hashtag in the world right now.”
On the screen, shaky cell phone footage played. It was from the perspective of a pedestrian on State Street. The video showed the Blackhawk landing in the intersection, the wind whipping debris everywhere. It zoomed in on Captain Miller sprinting toward Madeline. The audio was clear, cutting through the rotor noise: We don’t want the doctor, we want the nurse. Then the footage showed Miller throwing Madeline into the chopper and taking off.
“The internet is losing its mind,” Elena said, scrolling through comments on the screen. “Everyone is asking who the nurse is, why the military wanted her, and why she was standing on a street corner with a box of personal belongings in the middle of a workday.”
Madeline felt her face flush. “They saw the box.”
“They saw everything,” Elena said. “And the internet sleuths are fast. They’ve already identified you. They matched your image to the St. Jude staff page. But here is the problem.”
Elena clicked a remote. The screen switched to a live news feed. CNN Breaking News. The chyron read: St. Jude’s Hospital Addresses Viral Military Incident. Dr. Marcus Sterling was standing at a podium in the hospital lobby flanked by Linda Halloway from HR. He looked grave, serious—the picture of concerned authority.
“We are aware of the dramatic footage involving one of our former employees, Ms. Madeline Jenkins,” Sterling told the bank of microphones. “It is a regretful situation. Ms. Jenkins was terminated earlier today for concerning behavior. While I cannot go into specifics due to privacy laws, I can say that her actions endangered patient safety. She was in a state of mental instability. We believe the military may have been acting on outdated information when they extracted her.”
Madeline gasped, standing up so fast her chair tipped over. “That liar! Unstable? I saved a boy’s life!”
“He’s getting ahead of the narrative,” Cain said, his eyes narrowing as he watched the screen. “He knows the military picked you up, so he has to discredit you before you land. If you’re a hero, he’s the villain who fired a hero. If you’re unstable, he’s the responsible administrator who protected the hospital.”
On the screen, a reporter shouted a question. “Dr. Sterling, can you confirm if the military operation was related to a patient at the hospital?”
“Absolutely not,” Sterling lied smoothly. “We have the situation under control here. Ms. Jenkins is no longer a licensed practitioner at this facility. We pray she gets the help she needs.”
Madeline felt tears prick her eyes. It wasn’t just her job anymore; it was her reputation. He was destroying her name on national television to save his own skin.
“He’s going to win,” Madeline whispered. “He has the lawyers, he has the board. I’m just… I’m nobody.”
President Cain stood up. He walked over to the window of the plane, looking out at the tarmac where the motorcade was assembling.
“You’re not nobody, Madeline,” Cain said. “You’re the woman who saved Emily. And I take it very personally when people lie about my friends.”
He turned back to her, a mischievous glint in his eye—the kind of look that toppled dictatorships.
“Elena,” the President barked.
“Yes, sir?”
“Dr. Sterling is holding a press conference right now.”
“Yes, sir. He’s taking Q&A for the next 20 minutes.”
“Good,” Cain said. “Madeline, grab your things.”
“Where are we going?” Madeline asked.
“I have a meeting with the governor in Chicago this afternoon anyway,” the President said, buttoning his jacket. “I think we can make a detour. I think it’s time we returned you to your car. And I think we should do it while the cameras are still rolling.”
