Chapter 7: The Fall

I tailed Derek to the clinic, hidden above a grimy parking garage. The place looked like a dentist’s office from the ’80s—except nobody here was smiling. A faded Eagles poster was taped to the wall next to a handwritten ‘No Refunds’ sign. The whole place reeked of bleach and regret.

Last time, I’d convinced Derek not to go, and the clinic got shut down for botched surgeries and lawsuits. This time, I was just a spectator.

Derek swaggered in, full of ambition. The surgery was supposed to take forty minutes; he didn’t come out for three hours. When he finally staggered out, the anesthesia hadn’t worn off. He looked like death, clutching his sweatpants, eyes glazed with pain.

They booted him out with no care, the receptionist barely glancing up from her phone. Derek hobbled to the SEPTA bus stop, too cheap for a rideshare.

I didn’t feel sorry for him anymore. He’d made his choices. I drove away, the Philly skyline flashing by, my Ferrari engine purring.

Some people just can’t be saved.