Brought by Kane industries

The clinic smelled like antiseptic layered over rubbing alcohol, a smell Mara had long since stopped noticing except on days like this one. She held a fistful of cotton wool steady against the belly of a German Shepherd, applying gentle, even pressure while the dog trembled beneath her hands. The local anesthetic dulled the worst of it, but not all of it, and every dab of cotton earned a small, pained whimper she felt in her own chest more than she let show on her face. Mara kept her expression carefully professional, suture scissors and scalpel moving with the same steady precision they always did, even as something in her twisted a little tighter with every sound the dog made. Across the room, the family who owned him watched from a distance, the youngest daughter curled up on the reception table in tears, fear sitting heavy in her small shoulders. It took Mara nearly five hours to finish the stitching. By the time she straightened up, her gloves were soaked through with blood, and the anesthetic had started to wear thin enough that the dog blinked back into full awareness, tail already wagging weakly as she helped him down off the surgical table. He crossed the room straight to the little girl, licking her face until her tears finally broke into a giggle, small hands burying themselves in his fur. "Oh, thank you, Mara." The mother wrapped her arms tight around her before Mara could think to step back, and Mara stood there stiffly, gloves still stained red, unable to properly return the hug. "He was lucky this time," she said instead, gentle but firm. "Please don't let him jump the fence chasing after that ball again. Keep a closer eye on him." The family thanked her again on their way out, the mother pressing a small, crumpled wad of cash into her hands, mouthing one more thank you before they left. Mara didn't bother counting it. She already knew, without needing to, that it wouldn't cover the alcohol she'd used tonight, let alone five hours of stitching. She dropped it into the register anyway and sank into her office chair, peeling the gloves off and tossing them toward the bin in the corner. It was a one woman operation, had been since the day she opened, doctor, receptionist, and everything else rolled into one person who couldn't say no to an animal that needed help, even when saying yes meant she'd never be able to afford to hire anyone else. Alone now, with the waiting room finally empty, the tears came fast, the same ones she'd been holding back the entire procedure so the family wouldn't see her struggle. She let herself feel the dog's pain now that there was no one left to perform strength for, the dam finally breaking after hours of holding it shut. She flipped on the television, hoping for something, anything, to pull her mind elsewhere. Kane Industries. The logo filled the screen before she could change the channel, footage rolling of a residential block being torn down to clear ground for a new manufacturing plant. Streets littered with displaced families, children clutching whatever they'd managed to grab on their way out, a dog running loose between overturned furniture, looking for an owner who was nowhere in the shot. She stared at it, jaw tight. Why was any of this even legal. The answer came the same way it always did, quiet and bitter, settling into the same old certainty that the wealthy and powerful simply didn't answer to the same rules as everyone else. Before the segment could run any longer, the clinic door burst open. Her father, Pete Voss, strode in with a thick file clutched under one arm, his face lit up with a kind of joy she hadn't seen from him in years, not since long before the business started failing. "Mara." He was already crossing the room toward her, breathless, grinning like a man who'd just been handed his life back. "You are not going to believe the day I've had." She sat up straighter, wiping her face quickly, some old instinct telling her to brace herself before he said whatever he'd come here to say. "Dad, what's going on?" He dropped the file onto her desk, still catching his breath, still smiling that wide, almost manic smile. "Everything," he said. "Everything's about to change for us." He flipped the file open, and the first thing Mara saw, sitting right on top, was a photograph she recognized instantly from the same broadcast still playing behind her. Adrian Kane. "Dad." Her voice had gone very quiet. "Why do you have a picture of Adrian Kane in a folder you're smiling about." Her father's grin didn't waver, not even slightly, and that was the moment Mara understood, with a cold, sinking certainty, that whatever he was about to say next was going to be the worst thing she'd heard all year.