Page 4 of Yours to Keep

2

SULLIVAN

Istood at the front of the lecture hall behind a solid wooden lectern that had probably heard a hundred well-meaning speeches about compassion and teamwork. It was old and scuffed, like the hospital itself.

Saint Raphael’s had good bones. The people staring back at me, nurses, doctors, administrators, and techs, had better ones. These were hardened medical workers, people who sure as fuck didn’t flinch easily, but they also didn’t trust men in tailored suits who marched in and told them things were about to change.

After my opening remarks, I let the silence stretch long enough to make them uncomfortable. They didn’t have to trust me, but they needed to know right off the bat that I was in control.

“Some of you probably already don’t like me,” I said calmly. “I came in out of nowhere and bought your hospital.”

A few heads lifted. Some jaws tightened. No one spoke. “Let me be perfectly clear about this, I don’t give a single fuck.”

A ripple moved through the room, shock and irritation sharpened by curiosity. There. Now I have your attention.

“Hate me or love me,” I said briskly. “It makes no difference how you feel. Just do your job and do it well. That’s all that matters.”

I scanned the crowd, distrustful stares meeting my gaze. People who dealt with life and death every day were never impressed by men like me, who sauntered in wearing polished shoes and had never touched a pair of scrubs. I respected that, even as I dismissed it.

Sentiment didn’t save lives. Vision did—and I had that in spades. They could only save all those lives they did because of people like me, who developed what they needed before they even knew they could have it.

“As you may know,” I said, folding my hands on the lectern. “Crowne Medical develops diagnostic and treatment technology on the bleeding edge. We’re light years ahead of our competitors. Don’t look so bent out of shape. That’s a good thing for you. You’re welcome.”

That part was fact, not arrogance. Our imaging systems saw what others missed. Our diagnostics identified disease earlier, faster, and cheaper. We didn’t follow standards, we rewrote them, and these people needed to understand that they would be on the forefront of that from now on.

“I’m not normally in the hospital business, but Saint Raphael’s presented an opportunity.” I glanced up toward the ceiling, toward the fifth floor that had been closed for renovations for the last two years. Dead space. Wasted potential. “I’ll be reopening your fifth floor and installing Crowne Medical technology throughout it.”

Murmurs spread, but I ignored them. “Soon, patients at Saint Raphael’s will have access to advanced testing equipment not available anywhere else in the region. This hospital will be running clinical trials on technology still in development.”

I paused to let that sink in. “You’ll be able to help more people while we fine-tune our systems in a real-world setting.”

A few faces hardened further. Good. At least they understand what it means.

“We’ll be saving lives and showing the world what Crowne Medical technology can do when it’s placed in capable hands.”

I believed that completely. Progress required friction. Innovation demanded sacrifice. People liked to pretend otherwise, but every meaningful advance had left something else behind.

That was why I was here. Saint Raphael’s had heart. It had history. What it lacked was scale, precision, and the willingness to make hard choices for the greater good. That was where I came in.

“The fifth-floor renovations won’t disrupt current operations,” I said. “It’s been closed, so no one will need to adjust schedules or departments. That said, new positions will be opening. Anyone interested is welcome to apply.”

I made the concession openly and easily. People liked to hear they had options. “No one is losing their job.”

The reassurance eased the tension in the room exactly one second before I shattered any illusions they might be harboring. “That being said, there will be changes. Restructuring and the implementation of efficiency measures.”

A few people shifted in their seats. A nurse in the front row crossed her arms while the doctor behind her frowned openly. I looked him right in the eyes, wondering what he was so concerned about.

People who immediately assumed they would be affected were usually the ones who knew there was a reason why they would be. “As long as you can adjust, you’ll be just fine.” Adapt or don’t. The world doesn’t slow down for comfort.

“This research will save lives, but to make room for it, there will have to be cuts,” I said, giving them the clean, undiluted truth.

I scanned the room again, seeing fear, resistance, and uncertainty. A few sparks of interest, too—from the ambitious ones, those already thinking about what this could mean for their careers and their bank accounts.

Those were my people.

“You guys are good. I know that,” I said to those who weren’t already mentally packing up their workstations. “You’re dedicated and skilled.”

I believed that too. I wouldn’t have bought it otherwise. “But the hospital needs direction. Focus. The Crowne touch.”