Chapter 6 - Firing the Elite
The kitchen of the Mercer estate was larger than most commercial restaurants, lined with stainless steel counters, industrial sub-zero freezers, and a massive copper rotisserie that had been imported from Florence.
Waverly stood at the central prep station, surrounded by five high-end chefs who were watching her with a mixture of offense and amusement. She ignored them completely. She had found a small iron pot in the back of the pantry, some organic bone marrow broth, fresh ginger, and a handful of long-grain jasmine rice.
She was making congee—the simple, traditional rice porridge her grandmother had made for her whenever her own son’s fevers had climbed past one hundred and three.
"This is absurd," Dr. Yates’ voice boomed from the kitchen doorway. He walked in, his expensive leather loafers clicking against the tile, his white coat pristine. "Lawson, I must formally protest this. I am the head of pediatric oncology at Northwestern. I do not allow uncertified caretakers to introduce starch-heavy, non-sterilized grains into a compromised immune system. This is a direct violation of my medical protocol."
Lawson Mercer walked into the kitchen behind him, Prescott following two steps back. Lawson didn't look at the doctor; his eyes were fixed on the small pot where Waverly was carefully skimming the fat off the top of the boiling broth.
"Your protocol almost got my daughter poisoned last night, Franklin," Lawson said softly.
"That was a security breach!" Yates argued, his face turning a dark, defensive red. "An administrative failure by your own guards! My medical science is the only thing keeping those children's hearts beating. If you let this woman give them that... that peasant food, I will withdraw my team from this estate immediately. You will be without a medical director."
Waverly didn't stop stirring. She didn't look up from the pot. "The rice is broken down until it requires zero digestive energy, Dr. Yates. The ginger settles the nausea caused by the morphine. Your 'medical science' has them on an intentional calorie deficit because your clinical trial results look better if the patients stay in a state of metabolic stasis."
Yates went completely still. His eyes widened, his gaze darting toward Prescott for a fraction of a second before returning to Lawson. "She’s insane. She has no qualifications to make such an accusation—"
"Prescott," Lawson said, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly calm register.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Go to Dr. Yates' private office in the west wing. Take the hard drives. Take the physical ledgers. Every single paper related to my children’s treatment over the last six months."
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"Lawson, you can't do that!" Yates shouted, taking a step back as Prescott instantly moved toward the door. "That is proprietary research funded by the Vanguard Pharmaceutical Board! You signed a non-disclosure agreement!"
"I sign agreements with men, Franklin," Lawson said, stepping close enough to the doctor that the older man had to crane his neck to look him in the eye. "Not with vultures who use my children's blood to pad their research grants. You have ten minutes to clear your personal items from my property. If I see your face on my security feed past 8:15 a.m., Prescott will show you how we handle contract disputes in the city."
