The Ghost Surgeon: My Ruthless Ex's Obsession

The iron gates of the Phelps Estate were taller than Bronwyn remembered. She pressed the buzzer.

"Private property," a voice crackled.

"I'm Bronwyn Brewer. Tell Elsworth Phelps I brought the Silver Lancet."

Silence. Long, heavy silence.

Then, the gates groaned and swung open.

The driveway was a mile long. The house at the end was a palace of light. There were cars parked out front-Bentleys, Rolls Royces. A party.

The butler met her at the door. He looked at her wet hair and cheap dress with open disgust. "The study. Don't touch anything."

Bronwyn walked through the foyer. In the living room, a woman was holding court. She was blonde, beautiful, and wearing diamonds that could feed a country.

Buffy Patrick. The adopted daughter. The "perfect" heir. The Imposter.

Buffy saw her. Her smile faltered. A flicker of recognition, quickly masked by disdain, crossed her face. She recognized the jawline, the eyes, from old forbidden photographs. "Who are you? How did you get in?"

Bronwyn walked past her. "I'm here to see Elsworth."

Buffy stepped in front of her. "Grandfather is ill. He isn't seeing charity cases. Security!"

The door at the top of the stairs opened. Elsworth Phelps stood there, leaning on a cane. He looked old. frail. But his eyes were still sharp.

He looked at Bronwyn. He saw her mother's face.

"Let her up," he rasped.

Bronwyn walked up the stairs, feeling Buffy's hatred burning into her back.

In the study, Elsworth sat behind his massive desk. "You came back. Money run out?"

Bronwyn placed the case of scalpels on the desk. "I don't want money. I want you to save Leo."

"The boy who isn't even blood?" Elsworth sneered. "Why would I waste resources on him?"

"Because I can save your life," Bronwyn said.

Elsworth paused. "What?"

"I know about the aneurysm," Bronwyn said. "I saw the tremor in your hand. I saw the micro-seizures in your facial muscles."

"No one will operate," Elsworth said. "It's inoperable."

"I will," Bronwyn said.

Elsworth laughed. A dry, hacking sound. "You? You didn't even go to medical school."

"I have the gift," she said. "You know I do. It's in the blood." As she spoke, Elsworth's face went slack. The cane he was holding clattered to the floor. His left arm twitched, and a low gurgling sound came from his throat.

The door opened.

"Sorry to interrupt," a deep voice said.

Jennings Bowen walked in. He held a glass of scotch. He looked from Elsworth to Bronwyn, his eyebrows shooting up.

"Well," Jennings said. "The plot thickens."