The Fallen Son-in-law: Rise To Power

chapter 20

Chapter 20

Mikhail was walking down a corridor on one side of the hospital at that moment. He had a few files tucked into his coat pocket—notes from the last few cases of the day. Although he wanted to focus solely on his work, the pressure from the media and the drama created by Monica was slowly creeping into his mind. After a full day of smiling and speaking in front of countless people, fielding questions from reporters, he was mentally exhausted.

At the end of the corridor, Elvira stood by a station desk, organizing some papers. Her mask was down, a slight trace of fatigue in her eyes, but she continued working in her usual composed manner. Mikhail stopped when he saw her, just staring for a few moments.

Elvira was the one whose family he had saved with the funds he was owed, the one whose hospital he had decided to carry on his shoulders. Yet through it all, Elvira herself had said very little. Outside, the media was making up stories about the two of them—"the new power couple," "The hospital's hero doctor and the brave heiress"—Elvira still hadn't moved from her spot; she had simply done her duty.

Mikhail slowly approached.

"Elvira…"

Elvira looked up. There was no surprise in her eyes, as if she had expected Mikhail to come.

"Yes, Doctor Kingsley?" Though it sounded slightly sarcastic, there was a soft smile and a hint of fatigue in her voice.

Mikhail tried to force a faint smile, but it didn't last long. He stepped closer and stood by the desk.

"I wanted to talk to you for a moment. If you have the time," he said.

Elvira noticed a certain hesitation in his voice. Still, she gathered the papers from beside the chair into a file and said slowly,

"Well, today's pretty much over anyway. And the work… most of it is done. What did you want to talk about?"

Mikhail glanced around. The corridor was quiet at this hour—two nurses walked slowly in the distance, and a janitor sitting on a chair, washing dishes, was looking at something on his phone.

"I… I wanted to apologize," Mikhail finally said.

Elvira frowned.

"An apology? For what?"

Mikhail took a deep breath.

"The whole bizarre drama in the media today… everything Monica did and said… your name got dragged into it. You're being talked about for no reason. You've become a target because of me. I didn't want to drag you into all this."

Elvira stared at him in silence for a moment. She could see the guilt in Mikhail's eyes—this wasn't just a formal apology; he was truly shaken inside.

Elvira said softly,

"What Monica did was insulting to you, too. Not just to me. But why are you taking all the blame?"

Mikhail lowered his gaze and said,

"Because you stood by me. You let the fund be in your hospital's name, not mine. I wouldn't be in this position at Kingsley Hospital if it weren't for you. And on top of that, everyone's looking at you now as if… as if you're the 'third wheel' in all this drama. It's not fair."

Elvira sighed softly.

"There's a lot of right and wrong in the world. People always love a simple story. A boy, a girl, and a 'rival girl'—as soon as they can make that triangle, they forget all the other complexities."

Though he spoke in a normal voice, there was a hidden pain in his eyes. His face had been shown on the media, his name mentioned, and headlines were made by showing him standing beside a smiling Mikhail—all of it had left him feeling strangely uncomfortable.

Mikhail said slowly,

Still… I'm sorry to you. I've complicated your peaceful life."

Elvira smiled a little, a genuine smile this time.

"My life was never very calm. My father's illness, the hospital's financial troubles, the staff falling apart, a family under the weight of debt—all of it meant I'd been walking through a storm for a long time. If you hadn't come, I might still be stuck in the darkness."

Mikhail remained silent. He had wanted to hear these words, but at the same time, he realized how much pressure Elvira had been carrying alone.

Elvira leaned in a little closer and said in a soft voice,

"I can overlook what the media did today. I know what kind of person you are, what you would do. If you were selfish, you would have kept the funds for yourself. You didn't. You helped save our hospital. So I'm… happy, Mikhail."

Her eyes lit up slightly at the last word. Not a grand emotion, no dramatic declaration of love—just a sincere admission that she was glad to have stood by him.

Mikhail felt a weight lift from his chest. He looked at Elvira and said in a soft voice,

"You know, I've always tried to be there for people in their lives. But today, for the first time, I feel like someone is there for me, too."

Elvira flinched at his words, but she composed herself.

"Don't say things like that. People will get the wrong idea again."

"Whether people understand or not, knowing the truth is what matters to me," Mikhail said calmly.

They were both silent for a moment. The ticking of the clock in the hallway and the distant call of a nurse from another room combined to create a gentle atmosphere.

Elvira broke the silence,

"Are you seeing any more consultations today? Or is your day done?"

Mikhail flipped through the files in his hands.

"All of today's cases are finished. I only have one follow-up tomorrow morning. Nothing else today."

Elvira nodded and said,

"Then go home. You need to rest, too. It's been a very stressful day."

Mikhail brought a small smile to the corner of his lips,

"Have you looked at yourself? You need rest too. All day you've been dealing with reporters, keeping staff morale up, and reviewing the books."

Elvira said with a bit of tired sarcasm,

"It's a problem if I can't even keep the 'new hero' we chose to save Kingsley Hospital in line."

Mikhail laughed for the first time. In that light moment of humor, the day's heavy pressures seemed to melt away for a few seconds.

After a moment, he said softly,

"Thank you, Elvira."

Elvira frowned.

"What are you thanking me for?"

"For trusting me. And today… for standing by me—even if you didn't say anything to the media, I saw the support in your eyes."

Elvira looked away, toward the wall.

"I'll tell you if I see you doing something wrong, you can be sure of that. So far… I haven't seen anything wrong."

It might not have been the most complimentary sentence in the world, but to Mikhail, it felt like a huge acknowledgment.

The two stood in the corridor's light in silence for a moment. Then Elvira said softly,

"Let's call it a day. Go home. Tomorrow is another day."

Mikhail nodded in agreement.

"Are you going?"

Elvira said, "I have a little more duty. I need to monitor a case in the ICU. You go."

Mikhail didn't say anything else. He straightened the files and looked at Elvira once. "Take care."

Elvira just gave a small nod in response.

As Mikhail turned, the light in the corridor seemed to recede. He walked toward the elevator. Halfway down the hall, the new Kingsley Hospital logo caught his eye. All the years of hard work, the insults, the sacrifices—they had all led him to this moment. Yet, a strange unease gnawed at him, as if an unseen shadow was following his every move.

He stepped out of the elevator and entered the main lobby. The night-shift guard saluted him respectfully, and the receptionist offered a tired smile and wished him a good night. Mikhail returned everyone's greetings, but his mind was elsewhere.

As soon as he stepped outside, a cold wind hit his face. After emerging from the hospital's all-day hot lights and the hum of people, the night's chill felt somewhat relieving. His car was parked in the lot. Around him were a few staff cars, the distant glow of ambulance lights, and a tall, empty road.

Mikhail stopped walking toward the car and froze. His eyes narrowed.

The thing that had been catching his eye for a while now was even more apparent today.

Just outside the parking lot, a black car was parked by the side of the road. The car looked ordinary—tinted glass, no special markings, the lights off. But Mikhail felt like he had seen this car before. Not just once, but several times. In front of the hospital, on a corner, somewhere along the way to his house—each time, it seemed to be just far enough away that no one would easily suspect, but his eyes were now trained to spot it.

Mikhail slowly turned his gaze from the car and began walking toward the black vehicle. Leaving his own car behind, he didn't pull out his phone or call for any staff. He moved forward in silence.

The streetlight cast a dim reflection on the car's metal body. As Mikhail got closer, there was a slight movement inside the car, as if someone had sensed his approach.

He took another two steps and stood in front of the car's window. There was no sound for a few seconds. Then, the window began to lower slowly.

As the window rolled down, an old, cold feeling returned to Mikhail's chest—a feeling of caution, of cold calculation, one he had spent a long time trying to suppress.

The man sitting on the other side of the window had a completely shaved head, a shiny bald dome. He wore dark sunglasses, even though it was night. There was no exaggerated smile on his face, just a kind of detached expression. His black coat blended almost completely into the night.

Mikhail wasn't surprised to see him. Rather, he looked as if he were seeing an old acquaintance again, a meeting he had already anticipated.

He said in a cold voice,

"How long have you been following me?"

He tilted his head slightly, as if savoring the question.

"Not for very long." The voice was steady, monotonous, but it held a strange, underlying threat.

"You know, doctor, some people don't need to be seen from a distance. They let you know when they need to be approached and spoken to."

Mikhail frowned.

"I've seen your car. Over and over. In front of the hospital, in the old neighborhood, on the corner. You didn't think I'd notice?"

He gave a small smile.

"You only see us when we want you to. Not before."

It was the kind of statement that wasn't a direct answer, but a hint. Mikhail used to know this language well. This wasn't the language of common gangsters—it was the way organized, planned people communicated.

Mikhail's eyes hardened further.

"Don't beat around the bush. Tell me straight, who sent you?"

He placed his hands on the dashboard now, his fingers calmly laced together.

"You know who it could be. You're afraid to even say the name."

Mikhail's face hardened slightly.

"I'm not afraid of anyone."

He leaned in slightly to look at him, though his eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses.

"It seems you've forgotten the old days. Or you want to forget. But those who live in the shadows never forget. They just wait for the right time."

A light breeze began to blow. The rustling of leaves across the street suddenly grew louder. Mikhail stood there, his face set.

"Don't bring 'that name' here," he said slowly.

"I cut all ties a long time ago."

Baldman brought a thin smile to the corner of his lip.

"You can think what you want. But don't you forget him. He never forgets. He always knows who's where, what they're doing, who they're getting involved with."

Mikhail felt Elvira's face flash into his mind. His family, the hospital, his entire current life seemed to stand on one side, while his old, shadowy world stood on the other.

"What do you want?" he said in a low voice.

He didn't beat around the bush this time, stating it directly,

"He wants to talk to you."

Mikhail immediately understood who the 'he' was. That one word was enough to make his discomfort skyrocket. All the old memories, hatred, and a sense of obligation surged up inside him at once.

"I'm not involved in that anymore," Mikhail said curtly.

"I have a new life. I only work with patients now. I don't want to go to any 'meetings.'"

Baldman shrugged.

"Your wishes aren't insignificant, but they're not exactly important either. He just sent me to tell you—he has some old business with you. He wants you to go see him."

A tremor of annoyance and anger filled Mikhail's voice.

"Old scores? I settled all of them long ago. I've done everything I owe him."

He said in a calm voice,

"Maybe you've settled your side of the score. But there might still be something left on his. He left it very short—'Tell him, Owl is calling him.'"

As soon as the word was spoken, images from the past that Mikhail had buried for years surfaced in his mind.

'Owl'—he hadn't heard that codename in a long time. But the moment he heard it, a quiet chill spread through him. The darkness of the night, the man with the mysterious eyes, the power of seeing without being seen—it was all that man, the one his past was tied to.

Mikhail didn't say anything for a few seconds. The streetlight, the distant hospital sign, the soft silence of the parking lot—everything seemed to be waiting for what he would say.

Then he broke the silence himself.

"You know this well, doctor—Owl doesn't like to call someone more than once. He calls once, and then the person comes on their own. If they don't, the situation changes."

Mikhail's jaw clenched.

"Is that a threat?"

Baldman shrugged, as if it were a perfectly normal thing.

"Whether you take it as a threat or a warning—I'll leave that to your own judgment. But one thing is clear—you need to see him soon. Otherwise..."

He didn't finish the sentence, but his silence said the rest.

Mikhail took a slow step back.

"I have my own business in this town. I'm not anyone's 'man' anymore. I make my own decisions."