The clock on the wall ticked faintly, each second dragging as though mocking Addison Burke's anticipation. The sterile white walls of the hospital lab seemed to close in, their glow under the fluorescent lights a harsh reminder of the countless hours she had poured into her work. The scent of antiseptic lingered faintly, mingling with the bitter aroma of coffee gone cold on the counter.
Addison's fingers flew across her keyboard, her determination fueled by the thought of the impending break. Her much-needed vacation was only hours away, promising a reprieve from the relentless demands of her life. She glanced at her checklist—a neat array of tasks methodically crossed out. Just three more entries, and I'm free. The thought sent a fleeting smile to her lips.
The vibration of her phone shattered the moment. She hesitated before glancing at the screen: Dr. Markson. Her stomach tightened. There was always something about his calls—an aura of inevitability that came with them. Swiping to answer, she braced herself.
"Dr. Burke," his voice came through, brisk and authoritative.
"Good evening, Dr. Markson," Addison replied, masking her exhaustion with practiced professionalism.
"I know you're supposed to leave for vacation tomorrow, but I need you to stay late tonight."
The words landed like a heavy blow. "Tonight?" she echoed, her grip tightening around the phone.
"There's an urgent case. The Henderson file. I need your expertise on the cultures we're running. It can't wait."
Addison paused, her mind racing. She had meticulously planned this vacation, even booking a red-eye flight to maximize her time away.
"But, sir, I've already—"
"Addison," he interrupted, his tone softening just enough to sound almost apologetic. "You're the best we've got. You know what's at stake."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. The unspoken compliment barely eased the sting of disappointment.
"Of course," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside. "I'll take care of it."
"Good. Send me your updates by midnight."
The line went dead before she could respond. She stared at the screen for a moment, her frustration bubbling to the surface. Pulling off her gloves, she threw them into the disposal bin with more force than necessary. Her vacation wasn't canceled yet, but the thread she'd been holding onto felt dangerously close to snapping.
Her phone buzzed again, this time with a familiar name: Pete. Her younger brother rarely called, and when he did, it was usually an emotional whirlwind.
"Hey, Pete," Addison answered, trying to inject warmth into her tone.
"Addy!" Pete's voice came through, loud and fast, laced with exasperation. "I swear, this job is going to kill me."
"Good evening to you too," she replied, leaning against the counter. "Rough day?"
"Try rough month," Pete groaned. "Ross has been on my back all week about this patent. Katrina Sawyer this, Katrina Sawyer that. And guess who gets to track her down? Me. On top of everything else."
Despite herself, Addison chuckled. "You work for Justin Ross, Pete. You knew what you were signing up for."
"Don't remind me," Pete muttered. "But seriously, Katrina Sawyer? She's vanished to some secluded island, and Ross wants her tracked down like yesterday. I'm not a detective, Addy."
"What's so special about this patent?" Addison asked, curiosity piqued.
"Some revolutionary battery tech. If Ross gets it, it'll put him light-years ahead of the competition. You know how he operates—he has to win."
Addison could hear the weariness in her brother's voice. Pete had always been the dreamer of the family, yet working under someone as ruthless as Justin Ross had dulled his spark.
"Listen, Pete," she said gently, "don't let him run you into the ground. You're worth more than that."
"I know," Pete said, though his tone betrayed his doubt. "But if I can pull this off, it could mean a promotion. Maybe even a decent raise."
Addison sighed, understanding but not liking the reality of his situation. "Just promise me you'll take care of yourself, okay?"
"Yeah, yeah," Pete replied. His voice softened, affection creeping in. "What about you? Ready for your big getaway?"
Addison hesitated. "About that..."
"Oh no," Pete groaned. "Don't tell me Dr. Markson roped you into something again."
"It's just one case," Addison said, though she felt the weight of her own lie. "I'll still make my flight. Probably."
"Addy," Pete said, exasperation mixed with fondness, "you need to stop being so damn reliable."
"I'll work on that," she replied with a small laugh.
After the call ended, Addison stared at her reflection in the glass cabinet. The faint dark circles under her eyes and the errant strands of hair escaping her ponytail told a story of self-neglect. Duty always came first—first as a daughter, then as a sister, and now as a doctor.
As she gathered her notes to dive into the Henderson file, Addison's mind wandered to Pete's predicament. Katrina Sawyer. Why does that name sound familiar? Her fingers hovered over her phone as she debated whether to do a quick search. Curiosity won.
Moments later, she stared at the search results. Katrina Sawyer was a name tied to innovation and scandal. A brilliant inventor who had shaken the tech world with her unconventional methods. Her sudden disappearance from the public eye had fueled endless speculation. Some said she'd been bought out; others whispered of threats. Whatever the truth, Katrina had walked away from everything—and now Pete was caught in the crossfire.
Addison's thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the lab door. She turned, surprised to see Clara, a colleague and friend. Clara's face was drawn, her usual humor replaced with concern.
"Addy," she said quietly, stepping inside. "I heard about the Henderson case. But that's not why I'm here."
"What is it?" Addison asked, instantly alert.
Clara hesitated, glancing around as though the walls had ears. "There's something going on with Markson. Something... off."
Addison frowned. "What do you mean?"
Clara pulled out a folded paper from her pocket, her hands trembling slightly as she handed it over. "I found this in the lab—in one of the trash bins. It's not just about Henderson. There's a connection to Ross Technologies."
Addison unfolded the paper, her eyes scanning the text. Her blood ran cold. It wasn't just a patient case file. It was a document outlining a potential merger—one that involved proprietary research from their lab. Research that shouldn't have been shared outside the hospital.
"This can't be right," Addison murmured, but the pit.