Chapter 2 - The Silence of the TerminalI stood near the taxi exit of Charles de Gaulle, my hand tightening around my suitcase handle as Dr. Keller detailed the rapidly deteriorating metrics over the phone.
Preston’s text messages continued to flood my screen: Dad is crashing. Please, Althia. This isn’t about us. But to me, it was entirely about the absolute rot at the core of the Sterling family. Preston had spent years calculating when our relationship mattered—discarding my loyalty the moment it suited his social ambitions with Cecily, trusting that I would always remain his emotional safety net. The contrast between the sterile, clinical crisis unfolding in New York and the betrayal burning in my pocket was agonizing.
A boarding call for my connecting flight to Zurich echoed through the terminal speakers. The gate agent glanced toward my passport. I looked down at the screen, watching Preston’s frantic status updates: Surgeons here won't touch the arch. You’re the only one who can do the elephant trunk procedure. I took a slow, steadying breath, feeling the cold European air through the sliding doors. I didn't scream, I didn't type out an angry tirade, and I didn't board the plane to New York. Instead, I informed Dr. Keller that my European flight was departing on schedule, and unless official hospital governance requested my services through formal diplomatic channels with guaranteed institutional autonomy, my hands would remain right where they were—folded safely inside my coat pockets.
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