I floored my beat-up Volkswagen, the engine screaming in protest.
Wind poured through the half-open window, slicing my face, but it couldn't cool the fire burning in my chest.
Summit Private Club.
The city's most exclusive money pit—membership only, for the rich and connected.
I slammed the brakes at the entrance, tires shrieking against pavement.
I shoved open the door and stumbled toward the building.
I was still in my white coat, spattered with blood from resuscitating my father. Hair wild, face ashen—I looked like I'd escaped from a psych ward.
"Stop! What do you think you're doing?"
Two burly security guards blocked my path, looking me up and down with open disgust.
"This is a private club. Anyone not properly dressed is not allowed inside."
"I'm looking for someone!"
My voice came out raw. I tried to push past them.
"Adrian Henson! He's inside! I'm his—his colleague! It's an emergency!"
"Looking for Mr. Henson?"
The guards exchanged glances and smirked.
"Plenty of women come looking for Mr. Henson every day. Your outfit's creative though—playing nurse?"
"Get lost! You're an eyesore. Disturb our VIP guests, and you'll pay for it."
One of them shoved me hard.