Fired and Walking Home — Until Two Helicopters Landed Shouting “Where’s the Nurse?!”
The Showdown
The press room at St. Jude’s Memorial was packed. Every news outlet in Chicago plus the national bureaus had crammed into the atrium. The viral video of the Blackhawk abduction was the most exciting thing to happen in the city in years, and everyone wanted answers.
Dr. Sterling was enjoying the spotlight. He had rehearsed his lines perfectly. He played the victimized leader beautifully.
“It is never easy to let a staff member go,” Sterling said, his voice dripping with faux sympathy. “Madeline was a fixture here for a long time, but medicine requires precision, not vigilantism. We have strict protocols for a reason.”
“But why did the military want her?” a reporter from the Chicago Tribune pressed.
“A clerical error, surely,” Sterling dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I offered my own services to the rescue team, but in the confusion, they grabbed the first person they saw wearing scrubs. It was a chaotic scene.”
Linda Halloway nodded in agreement beside him. “We are currently reviewing our security measures to prevent such disruptions in the future.”
Suddenly, the phones of every reporter in the room lit up simultaneously—buzzing, chiming, pinging. A murmur went through the crowd. Reporters looked down at their screens, then looked at each other with wide eyes.
“What is it?” Sterling asked, annoyed by the distraction.
A reporter in the front row looked up, holding his earpiece. “Dr. Sterling, are you aware that the Presidential motorcade has just exited the highway?”
Sterling frowned. “The President is in town for a fundraiser. That has nothing to do with us.”
“Sir,” the reporter interrupted. “They aren’t going to the fundraiser. Traffic control says they’ve shut down Wacker Drive. They’re heading here.”
Sterling froze. “Here?”
Before he could process this, the sound of sirens began to bleed into the room from the street outside. Not one or two sirens—a symphony of them. The wail of police escorts, the heavy rumble of armored vehicles. The glass doors of the main entrance visible behind the press pool flashed with red and blue lights.
Two Secret Service agents in full tactical gear burst through the hospital doors, rifles held at the low ready. They scanned the lobby.
“Clear the lane!” one of them shouted. “Make a hole!”
The reporters, sensing history in the making, parted like the Red Sea. They turned their cameras away from Sterling and toward the entrance. Sterling stood alone at the podium, his mouth slightly open. Linda Halloway took a nervous step back.
Through the doors walked four uniformed Chicago police officers, followed by the Mayor of Chicago. Then came the Secret Service detail. And then, walking side by side, came President Thomas Kaine and Madeline Jenkins.
Madeline was still wearing the oversized Secret Service windbreaker, her hair tied back in a messy bun, but she walked with her head high. The President had his hand gently on her back, guiding her. The room erupted. Flashbulbs went off like a strobe light storm. Questions were shouted, overlapping into a wall of noise.
Sterling gripped the podium so hard his knuckles turned white. He looked like he was seeing a ghost. The President didn’t stop at the edge of the room. He walked right up to the podium. Sterling didn’t move; he was paralyzed.
“Excuse me, Doctor,” the President said, his voice amplified by the microphone Sterling was still standing in front of. “I believe you’re in my spot.”
Sterling stumbled back, nearly tripping over a cable. “Mr… Mr. President… I… we weren’t expecting…”
President Cain ignored him. He adjusted the microphone. The room went deathly silent.
“My fellow Americans,” Cain began, looking directly into the cameras. “I apologize for the interruption, but I was watching Dr. Sterling’s press conference from Air Force One, and I felt compelled to come down here and correct the record.”
He gestured to Madeline, who stood to his right, looking terrified but resolute.
“Dr. Sterling just told you that Madeline Jenkins was fired for instability,” Cain said, his voice rising with controlled anger. “He told you she was a liability. He told you the military made a mistake.”
Cain paused, letting the silence hang heavy.
“The truth is,” Cain continued, “Two hours ago, my goddaughter suffered a catastrophic airway collapse. The best doctors in the military couldn’t stabilize her. We asked for Madeline Jenkins by name because she is the best thoracic nurse in this city. And when she arrived, she didn’t just assist; she performed a life-saving surgical procedure that the flight surgeon was afraid to attempt.”
A collective gasp went through the room. Cameras zoomed in on Madeline’s face.
“She saved my family,” Cain said. “And she did it an hour after being fired by this man.”
Cain pointed a finger at Sterling, who was now sweating profusely. “And why was she fired? Because she saved another child’s life against this man’s orders.”
The reporters turned on Sterling like a pack of wolves. “Dr. Sterling! Is that true? Did you fire her for saving a patient? Did you lie about her mental state?”
Sterling stammered, holding up his hands. “Now, wait… wait a minute. There are complexities. Insurance protocols…”
“Insurance protocols?” Madeline spoke up. It was the first time she had raised her voice. It was shaky, but it gained strength as she looked Sterling in the eye. “Leo was dying, Marcus. He was eight years old. You were worried about a lawsuit; I was worried about his mother burying him.”
“This is absurd!” Sterling snapped, trying to regain control. “I am the Chief of Surgery. I determine the fitness of my staff. You cannot just waltz in here and…”
“Actually,” the President interrupted. “I can do a little more than that.”
Cain turned to the side of the room. “Agent Reynolds?”
The Secret Service agent stepped forward holding a manila envelope. He handed it to the President.
“Dr. Sterling,” Cain said, opening the envelope. “While I was flying here, I had the Department of Justice look into the billing practices of St. Jude’s under your administration. It seems that prioritizing profit over patients is a habit of yours. We found discrepancies. Massive ones.”
Sterling’s face went gray.
“And,” Cain added, turning to the cameras. “I also made a call to the Chairman of the Hospital Board. He was very interested to hear that the Chief of Surgery lied to the national press and the President of the United States. He’s on the phone right now with HR.”
Cain looked at Linda Halloway. “Linda, isn’t he?”
Linda, realizing the ship was sinking and she didn’t want to go down with it, nodded vigorously. She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. She had clearly prepared it the moment the motorcade arrived.
“Dr. Sterling,” Linda said, her voice trembling. “Effective immediately, the board has voted to suspend your privileges pending an investigation. You are to be escorted from the premises.”
The room exploded into chaos. Sterling looked around wildly. “You can’t do this! I built this wing! I am this hospital!”
“Mr. Henderson!” Madeline called out softly from the back of the room.
The old security guard, Fast Eddie, stepped forward. He had a wide, toothy grin on his face. He was holding a cardboard box—an empty one.
“I believe you know the way out, Doctor,” Mr. Henderson said. “And here’s a box for your things. It’s a bit small, but I’m sure you’ll manage.”
The flashbulbs blinded Sterling as he took the box, his arrogance finally crushed under the weight of his own hubris. President Cain put an arm around Madeline’s shoulders.
“Now, Madeline, about your employment status. I have a job offer for you, but I have a feeling St. Jude’s might want to make a counteroffer first.”
Madeline looked at the reporters, at the President, and then at the spot where she had stood crying in the rain just hours ago.
“I think,” Madeline said, smiling for the first time all day, “I’m going to need a raise.”
