“I practice TCM, and while I do not currently hold a position at a major hospital, I am confident that I can cure your father’s illness.”
Frank Yates withdrew his gaze from the elderly man gasping for air on the hospital bed and looked directly at Leo Bailey. His voice was calm, carrying the weight of absolute certainty, a stark contrast to the frantic beeping of the medical monitors.
Leo Bailey’s brow furrowed, the lines of stress on his forehead deepening into canyons of skepticism. He looked at Frank—a young man in cheap, off-the-rack clothing—and then at the array of high-tech machinery surrounding his dying father.
“TCM?” Leo repeated the acronym as if it were a dirty word, his tone dripping with incredulity. “Since when does a Traditional Chinese Medicine practitioner look like a
