Chapter 2

The fabricated chat history on Mark' s phone screen glowed with a sickening light. The words were a twisted parody of intimacy, painting a picture of a greedy, manipulative woman.

"Look at this," Mark said, his voice loud enough for the interns to hear every word. He scrolled through the messages, his finger jabbing at the screen. " 'My love, thank you for the generous gift. You know how to take care of your girl.' That was two months ago, Evelyn. And here: 'I can' t wait until we can be together properly, without all these secrets.' "

He looked up at her, his face a mask of righteous disgust. "You told him you loved him. You took his money. And now that he's on his deathbed, you pretend you don' t even know him? You claim he' s just a client?"

His questions were not questions. They were accusations, delivered for the benefit of the audience. The interns stared at her, their young faces hardened with judgment. They had trusted her, admired her, and now they believed she was a monster.

"Mark, those are not my messages," Evelyn said, her voice low but steady. She had to stay calm. Panic was a confession. "I have never sent anything like that to Mr. Harrison. Someone faked this."

"Faked it?" Mark scoffed, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. "Who would fake this, Evelyn? And why? It' s his phone. These are messages from your number. Are you saying Mr. Harrison, in his final days, orchestrated some elaborate scam to frame you? For what reason?"

Evelyn' s mind raced. Why would he do this? Was it just senile cruelty? Or was there something else? A deeper resentment she had never seen? She remembered his odd comments over the years, his bitterness about past failures, about people who he felt had wronged him. Was she just the final target for a lifetime of accumulated spite?

She looked at Mark, at the man she had once loved, and saw a stranger. He wasn't trying to find the truth. He was protecting the hospital, protecting his own career. A public scandal involving a senior vet and a wealthy, dying patient was a nightmare for hospital PR. The easiest solution was to cut her loose, to paint her as the villain and move on.

She noticed a small detail. Mark was holding the phone at a strange angle, his thumb covering the very top of the screen where the contact name or number would be displayed. It was a subtle thing, but it was deliberate. He wasn't just showing the messages; he was curating the evidence.

"Let me see the phone," Evelyn demanded, taking a step forward. "Let me see the contact information. Let me see the raw data."

"So you can delete it?" Mark said, pulling the phone back protectively. "I don' t think so. This is evidence."

The interns murmured in agreement.

"She' s trying to destroy the proof!"

"Unbelievable. She has no shame."

The room felt like it was closing in on her. The whispers were a physical force, pressing down on her. She was isolated, judged, and condemned without a trial. She looked past the hostile faces of her colleagues to the kennel where Champ lay. He had gotten to his feet and was pressing his nose through the bars, whining softly. He was the only one in the room looking at her with trust. He was the reason she was here in the first place. Her duty was to him.

She took a deep breath, focusing on the dog. That focus gave her a sliver of clarity. There was something else wrong with this scene. Mr. Harrison, after his dramatic outburst, was now lying perfectly still, his eyes closed. But a faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on his thin lips. He wasn't just a confused old man. He was enjoying this. He was watching his final, cruel performance unfold.

The realization hit her with the force of a physical blow. This was all intentional. A premeditated act of character assassination.

Anger, pure and hot, burned through her shock. She would not let this man, or Mark, or these naive interns destroy her.

"You're all being manipulated," she said, her voice ringing with a newfound strength. She pointed a trembling finger at the old man in the bed. "By him."

Mark looked at her as if she were insane. "He is dying, Evelyn."

"And he's using his last breaths to lie," she retorted.

She started to move toward Mark again, determined to get that phone, to expose the fraud.

Suddenly, the door to the room burst open. A woman with a sharp, predatory face and expensive clothes stormed in, followed by a scowling, heavyset man.

"What is going on in here? Where is he?" the woman shrieked, her eyes darting around the room before landing on Mr. Harrison in the bed. "Uncle! Oh, you poor man!"

Evelyn recognized her from photos in Mr. Harrison' s file. It was Brenda, a distant cousin. The man with her was Todd, a former kennel manager Mr. Harrison had fired a year ago after Evelyn reported him for neglecting the show dogs.

Brenda rushed to the bedside, feigning sorrow. Todd stood by the door, his arms crossed, a look of vindictive satisfaction on his face. He caught Evelyn's eye and smirked.

The trap was no longer just about a dying man's lie. It was an ambush.

Brenda turned from the bed and her eyes, cold and hard, fixed on Evelyn.

"You," she hissed. "You're the one. The vet who was supposed to be taking care of him."

Then, without warning, she lunged at Evelyn, her hands reaching not for her face, but for her hair.