Chapter 10 – Public Slap in the Face
Lynn evaluated the situation instantly.
Misdiagnosis.
Critical.
Time to cardiac arrest—
Under ten minutes.
Should he intervene?
From a purely self-interested standpoint—
No obligation.
Not his patient.
No liability.
No benefit from the system either—the target had no extraordinary traits.
But—
He shifted his gaze.
Onlookers.
Witnesses.
And across the entrance—
Howard Griffin.
This wasn't just a patient.
This was visibility.
A decisive, public correction would establish authority faster than any advertising campaign.
And—
It would dismantle Griffin's earlier dismissal.
Decision made.
Lynn stepped into the emergency room.
His pace was controlled.
Direct.
He stopped beside the bed.
The attending doctor was still writing orders.
Unaware.
"You're not having an anxiety attack," Lynn said clearly.
His voice carried across the room.
"You're having an acute myocardial infarction. Left anterior descending artery occlusion. Without intervention—five minutes."
The pen stopped.
The doctor looked up.
Recognition came quickly.
Irritation followed.
"Who are you? This is an emergency department. Unauthorized individuals stay outside."
"I'm Lynn," he replied evenly. "Physician. Miracle Clinic."
The doctor remembered.
Expression tightened.
"Right. The clinic across the street." A brief scoff. "Our ECG shows normal sinus rhythm. No ST elevation. This is anxiety. You're diagnosing a heart attack by sight?"
"Your ECG is incorrect," Lynn said.
His gaze moved to the electrode placements.
"Leads V1 and V2 are reversed."
A pause.
"V1 belongs at the right sternal border, fourth intercostal space. V2 at the left. Yours are swapped. That distorts anterior lead readings and masks ST elevation."
The doctor stiffened.
"That's impossible. I've performed—"
"Then correct it," Lynn cut in.
No change in tone.
But no room for refusal.
"Switch them. Repeat the ECG. The result will settle this."
Silence fell.
The nurse hesitated, syringe in hand.
The patient groaned, gripping his chest, breath fragmented.
Outside—
The crowd grew.
Griffin stepped forward.
"What's happening?" he asked sharply.
The young doctor responded quickly, defensive:
"He's claiming our ECG is wrong. Says it's a heart attack."
Griffin's eyes moved to Lynn.
Recognition.
Memory.
"Dr. Lin," he said, voice neutral but edged, "our emergency team is trained. You, without—"
"My temporary license is active," Lynn interrupted calmly. "You can verify it."
Then—
More direct:
"You have four minutes before collapse. Continue debating—or correct the leads."
No escalation.
No emotion.
Just constraint.
Griffin paused.
The room shifted.
Whispers began among the bystanders.
"What if he's right…?"
Griffin made a decision.
"Redo it."
The young doctor hesitated—
Then complied.
He removed the electrodes.
Paused.
Looked.
And froze.
They were reversed.
He corrected the placement.
Restarted the ECG.
Paper rolled.
Ten seconds.
He tore it free.
Looked—
And went pale.
ST-segment elevation.
Clear.
Convex.
Leads V1 through V4—
All positive.
Classic anterior wall myocardial infarction.
The room went still.
Then—
Griffin reacted.
"Activate cath lab!" His voice rose sharply. "Notify cardiology! Prepare PCI immediately!"
The system shifted instantly.
Orders issued.
Medications prepared.
Transport arranged.
The patient was rushed out.
Door slammed.
Movement everywhere.
From Lynn's first statement—
To confirmed diagnosis—
Under four minutes.
No applause.
But the silence had changed.
The way people looked at Lynn—
Had changed.
He didn't linger.
He turned.
Walked out.
Crossed the street.
Returned to his clinic.
Closed the door.
Griffin remained at the entrance.
Coffee untouched.
Cold.
The young doctor stood behind him, pale.
"…If we had treated him as anxiety…"
Griffin didn't look back.
"He would have died."
A pause.
"You nearly killed him."
Silence followed.
Griffin looked across the street again.
Through the glass—
Lynn had already returned to his seat.
Coffee in hand.
Textbook open.
No sign of what had just happened.
Normal.
Controlled.
As if the incident had no weight.
By evening—
The story had spread.
Informally.
Organically.
Through conversation.
"He spotted it instantly."
"The hospital missed it."
"He saved that man."
Each retelling—
More exaggerated.
More certain.
By morning—
Three people waited outside the clinic.
By the third day—
Seven.