The alley behind the Sterling-Khan Community Clinic smelled of antiseptic and wet cardboard. Julian Sterling, wearing a grey jumpsuit that was two sizes too big, heaved a heavy bag of biohazard waste into the dumpster. He wiped sweat from his brow, his hands raw from the bleach he used to scrub the floors of the hospital he had built.
“How the mighty have fallen,” a smooth voice called out.
Julian froze. He turned to see Dante Ricci leaning against a black sedan, looking every inch the predator in a shark-skin suit.
“I’m working, Dante,” Julian gritted out. “Go away.”
“I admire the humility. Really. The ‘Penitent’ look suits you,” Dante smirked, stepping over a puddle. He pulled a crisp business card from his pocket. “But I have a feeling you miss the view from the top.”
Dante held out the card. “I want the clinic, Julian. Maya is stubborn, but she has financial weak points. You have access to her office. Her files.”
Julian stared at the card. “You want me to spy on her?”
“I want you to help me acquire the property,” Dante corrected. “Do that, and I will pull some strings with the medical board. I can get your license reinstated. You could be a doctor again, Julian. Not a janitor.”
Julian looked at the card, then at his mop bucket. The offer was a lifeline out of the gutter, but the price was his soul. He didn’t take the card, but he didn’t walk away, either.