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“Say what now?”
I chuckle. “You know those medical school exams you had to study for, all those hours you spent grueling over all those books and papers, all the practice exams and preparations.”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“Not everyone had to work that hard at it. Or to be more precise, some tried and failed, but instead of taking a hint and moving on, they simply found someone else to take the exams for them so they could pass with flying colors and eventually become a chief resident in the ER of a certain prominent NY hospital.”
Her mouth drops open. “No!”
“Yes.”
“There’s no way.”
“I’m telling you, Emma’s about to be knocked clean off that high horse of hers.”
“Bash, this is nuts,” she says as her eyes dart side to side trying to process the implications. “How do you know? Is this real?”
“I make it a point to acquire knowledge about the key people in my life and dealings. I hoped it would never come to this, but I needed to know any weaknesses that the chief resident might have,” I give her an apologetic smile when she looks askance at me. “During my investigation of Emma, I discovered that after the birth of her second child she went through some difficult times. The pressure of medical school and being a mother of two must have gotten to her. She really struggled when it came to passing her USMLE exams, particularly during her first year of residency. She knew she couldn’t successfully pass USMLE step 3 on her own, so instead of taking some much-needed time off to regroup, Emma paid someone to take the exam for her.”
Madison’s eyes go wide. “Get out! Are you serious? Where’s the proof?”
“It came out during her very ugly divorce hearing about two years ago. Her ex-husband claimed he’d discovered unauthorized test prep materials, some which already had the test answers provided. But the smoking gun came when he uncovered the payment to a hacker who likely altered her test scores or had someone take the test for her.”
“Holy shit,” Madison says, running her hands through her hair. “But how is it that she’s still practicing? They should have yanked her license the second this was made public.”
“Because it was deemed inadmissible evidence, possibly fabricated by the husband as a revenge tactic.”
Her shoulders sag. “Let me guess, her ex is some kind of computer wizard, software engineer type?”
“Yes, but where they left off, I took up the investigation. Mads, he didn’t fabricate a thing. She’s guilty and I have the proof.”
Her eyes narrow at me. “How did you…”
“I know a guy who does a little forensic accounting specializing in this sort of thing. He traced the payment to the hacker in question, they move about in the same internet forums on the dark web. For a price, the guy was willing to turn over his records of his transactions with Emma.” I sit back and smile. “We’ve got her, babe. If she so much as looks at you funny, just mention this name – Constantine.”
Her eyes search about as she rolls the name around on her tongue, “Constantine.”
“Yeah, it’s your ace in the whole if she starts to lean on you again.”
A slow smile starts to spread across her face as she nods. “I’ll have to test your theory. I mean, I’ll only do it if she tries to pull her support from my surgical residency assignment.” Her brow furrows. “Though technically, I should blow the whistle on her regardless. That’s some seriously unethical shit. She’s a good doctor and I can imagine how difficult it must have been juggling a high-pressured career and motherhood, but jeez.”
I shrug. “For now, just keep it in your back pocket to get you through this prickly period. It’ll ease some of the pressure knowing she won’t withdraw her support at the risk of exposing her own skeletons.”
She sits back against the cushions and folds her hands behind her head, looking pretty cute in her green scrubs. “Meanwhile, you’re working to shift your business dealings to focus primarily on the financial sector?”
“Yes, diligently. I don’t want you worrying about any of this, okay?” I poke her flat belly. “You just focus on saving all those lives.”
She squirms and giggles. “You know in the angioplasty, they let me make the initial incision and retract the balloon stent. And I got to perform a transesophageal echo today on a patient with a mitral valve disorder.”
“Oh, my God,” I gasp, raising my brows dramatically. “Not a freaking transesophageal echocardiogram! Well, look at my brilliant little surgeon girlfriend,” I say, teasing her all the while demonstrating my knowledge of her field.
“Bash!” She smacks my arm playfully. “It’s a major procedure I can add to my list. Simon hasn’t performed one yet.”
“I know, babe. You’re going to leave that Simon guy in the dust. No one’s better than my Mads.”
When she smiles warmly at me, I know the crisis has been averted and we’re better than good. I rise from the sofa and hold out my hand to her.
“Come on, sweetheart, let’s eat.”
