Chapter 3: Extortion on the Front Porch

I tossed my gloves in the bin, trying to hide my grin. Compliments from Chase always meant a little more—he didn’t hand them out lightly. It felt good, like maybe I was still making a difference, even out here. That sense of purpose lingered as I changed out of my scrubs.

I laughed and said as I took off my gloves, “Alright, I’m outta here. My little girl’s waiting at home.”

I checked the time, already running through how fast I’d have to move to make my flight. My daughter’s voice echoed in my head, asking if I’d be home for pancakes. I wasn’t about to let her down.

“Not staying for dinner? My mom could whip up her famous fried chicken.”

Chase’s eyes sparkled with hope. I’ll admit, I was tempted—his mom’s fried chicken was legendary: crispy, juicy, the kind of meal that made you forget about the world. But the clock was ticking, and home was calling.

I waved him off. “Nah, if I eat I’ll miss my flight, and then my kid will throw a fit. Let’s just grab something quick at the cafeteria.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re missing out, man. But I get it—family first.” We grabbed lukewarm sandwiches from the cafeteria, joking about hospital food and swapping stories until it was time to go. The bread was stale, the lettuce wilted, but it didn’t matter. It was the company that counted.

Chase looked disappointed, but when he saw me off at the airport, he handed me a box of homemade beef jerky. “I was gonna send you home with this after dinner. Dad rushed to bring it. Guess you’ll have to snack on the plane.”

He pressed the box into my hands, a proud grin on his face. The jerky was wrapped in wax paper, tied with a bit of twine—classic Morales family touch. I could almost taste the smoky, peppery goodness. That little box felt heavier than it should, packed with memories.

Chase’s mom makes killer beef jerky and pickles. Back in med school, he’d always bring some for everyone. We all missed those snacks. Those late-night study sessions, the endless rounds, the little care packages from home—they kept us going. Sometimes, it’s the simple things that remind you where you came from. Those flavors brought it all back.

I smiled and took the box onto the plane. The aroma hit me as soon as I opened it—salty, savory, a little bit sweet. It was comfort in a bite.

Settling into my seat, I popped open the box and let the familiar scent wash over me. I chewed slowly, savoring the taste of home. Even on the toughest days, there were still good people in my corner. That thought made the trip back just a little easier.

Sunday morning, the chief’s call woke me up. My phone buzzed before sunrise, yanking me out of a rare, deep sleep. My wife rolled over, groaning, and I mouthed an apology as I slipped out of bed. The chief never called unless it was urgent—my heart started pounding before I even answered. I could feel the weight of the day pressing in.

I rarely get to rest. On days off, our rule is not to call unless it’s urgent, so if I get a call at this hour, it must be for emergency surgery. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, already running through possible cases in my head. Maybe a car accident, maybe a kid with appendicitis—something bad enough to break the weekend truce. My body was awake, but my mind was still catching up.

Thinking of a critical case, I answered while getting dressed. I pulled on yesterday’s jeans, phone wedged between shoulder and ear. “Evans here. What’s up, Chief?” My voice was rough, but I was already shifting into doctor mode. My hands moved on autopilot.

Unexpectedly, the chief’s tone wasn’t urgent, but grave: “Evans, did you do a consult out of town yesterday?” His voice was heavy, measured. Not the clipped urgency of a trauma, but something slower, more deliberate. My stomach dropped. I could tell this wasn’t about a patient’s life, but something else—something worse.

My hand, halfway into my sleeve, paused. I nodded—then realized he couldn’t see me. “Yeah.” A chill crept up my spine. Something was off, and I didn’t like it.

A cold prickle crept up my spine. I tried to keep my voice steady, but a thousand worst-case scenarios flashed through my mind. Lawsuit? Complication? What had I missed? I could feel my pulse in my throat.

Now I was confused. Did something happen to yesterday’s patient? But it was just a joint surgery—something I do all the time—and the operation was a great success. There shouldn’t be any problems. Besides, if something happened to the patient, Chase should be the one calling me, not the chief. My thoughts raced, searching for answers.

I replayed every moment of the surgery, searching for anything I could’ve missed. The patient had been stable, the procedure routine. None of it made sense. My fingers drummed nervously on the dresser.

“Evans, you’ve been reported.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. For a second, I couldn’t breathe. I gripped the phone tighter, knuckles aching. The world seemed to tilt sideways.

My heart skipped a beat. I immediately ended the call and opened the video the chief had sent me. My hands shook as I tapped the link. The video loaded slowly, the spinning wheel taunting me. I braced myself, not sure what I’d see. My stomach was in knots.

The video already had hundreds of likes and comments. I scrolled through them—angry faces, accusations, strangers passing judgment with a few keystrokes. My name was there, tagged and dragged through the mud. It felt like watching a train wreck in slow motion. Each comment was a fresh punch.

It showed me yesterday at the county hospital’s OR door. I saw myself on screen, caught mid-motion, face tense. The angle was off, the lighting harsh. It was a version of me I barely recognized. My hands felt clammy.

From the patient’s family’s perspective, the camera swept around the OR, finally stopping at the door, where a stack of cash was handed to me in my scrubs. The money looked bigger on camera, the exchange more dramatic. The whole thing felt staged, like a bad reality show. I could see Chase in the background, jaw clenched, eyes darting nervously. My gut twisted.

The camera angle was low, mostly shooting up from waist level—clearly a secret recording. It was sneaky, calculated—the kind of shot you only get if you’re trying to hide what you’re doing. I felt exposed, violated. My skin crawled.

No doubt, the person filming was the patient’s son, Frank Dalton. I recognized his shoes, the way he shuffled his feet. Frank had planned this from the start. The realization was like a slap in the face.

The camera briefly caught my face and those of several doctors. Although the quality wasn’t great, anyone who knew us could recognize us. Even with the grainy footage, I could make out the worry lines on Chase’s forehead, the tired slump of my shoulders. There was no hiding who we were. I felt naked.

He himself wasn’t in the shot at all. He stayed out of frame, making sure the blame landed squarely on us. It was all too convenient. My anger simmered.

He even added a voiceover and captions to the video:

“Yesterday my mom was lying in the OR, and he blocked the door, saying he wouldn’t start unless we gave him a cash bribe. What was I supposed to do?”

“To avoid leaving a trace, he insisted on cash—no Venmo.”

“I had no choice but to pull out cash at the ATM, afraid of delaying my mom’s life.”

“Four hundred bucks. My mom can’t even make that much from a year’s harvest.”

“Demanding a bribe—this is what medicine’s become?”

“Do regular folks even have a chance?”

Each line was more dramatic than the last, painting me as the villain. The captions scrolled across the screen, bold and accusatory. It was a masterclass in manipulation. Every beat landed like a hammer.

Every accusation was dripping with outrage and heartbreak. A worried son, a crusader for justice—he played the part perfectly. If I weren’t the target, I might have been moved, too. The performance was almost convincing.

I watched in disbelief, feeling the weight of every word. He knew exactly how to pull at people’s heartstrings, how to twist the truth until it snapped. My chest felt tight.

But now I was trembling with rage. My whole body shook. I wanted to throw my phone across the room, to scream, to do something—anything—to make it stop. But all I could do was watch. My hands clenched so hard my nails dug into my palms.

If I’d really taken dirty money and got reported, I’d admit it. But this four hundred dollars wasn’t even a professional fee—it was just travel expenses. The unfairness of it gnawed at me. I’d gone out of my way, bent over backward to help, and this was the thanks I got. I replayed the conversation in my head, wishing I’d handled it differently. Regret burned hot.

It was right after Thanksgiving, when airfare and hotels are expensive and tickets are hard to get. Chase had to scramble to find a barely suitable flight. I remembered the chaos of holiday travel, the crowded airports, the overpriced tickets. Chase had called in every favor he had just to get me there on time. It wasn’t about the money—it was about doing the right thing. The whole thing felt like a slap in the face.

For this surgery, I rushed straight to the airport after work, and even my luggage was packed by my wife. She’d kissed me goodbye, handed me my bag, and told me to be careful. I’d barely had time to say thank you. The memory stung now.

I’ve heard of parents reporting teachers after paying for tutoring, trying to get their money back after graduation, but I never thought something like this would happen to me. It was the kind of story you’d hear on the news, not something that happened to people like us. I felt betrayed, blindsided, and more than a little foolish. My faith in people took a hit.

I closed the video and told the chief, “I’ll come over right away,” then immediately called Chase. My fingers fumbled as I dialed. I needed answers, and I needed them now. My heart hammered in my chest.

He picked up after just one ring. He must’ve been waiting for my call. His voice was tight, anxious—he knew exactly why I was calling. I could hear the guilt before he even spoke. I braced myself.

“What’s going on with that patient from yesterday?”

Chase’s voice was full of guilt: “Sorry, man. I really didn’t expect them to be so ungrateful. Did this cause you a lot of trouble?” He sounded wrecked, like he hadn’t slept. I could picture him pacing his office, running a hand through his hair, replaying the whole mess in his head. I felt for him, even through my anger.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Alright, what’s done is done. Skip the apologies—just tell me what happened.” I needed facts, not feelings. We could sort out the blame later. My patience was thin.

Only then did Chase explain everything. He took a deep breath, words tumbling out in a rush. I listened, jaw clenched, as he laid out the whole story from the beginning. I could hear the frustration in every word.

“This morning, a nurse told me about the video. I immediately went to find the family.”

“I thought I could get him to delete the video before things blew up, and it wouldn’t be a big problem.”

He’d acted fast, trying to contain the damage. I could hear the frustration in his voice—he’d hoped to nip it in the bud, but things had already spiraled out of control. The situation was slipping through his fingers.

“And then?”

I pressed him, wanting every detail. I needed to know exactly where things went wrong. My nerves were shot.

What Chase did was right. In public hospitals like ours, public opinion can be brutal. Even small things get blown out of proportion. It’s best to clarify things early, talk to the parties involved, and settle it quietly. But since the chief already knew, clearly things hadn’t gone as Chase hoped. I felt a sinking sense of dread.

We’d all learned the hard way that perception mattered more than truth. Once a story hit the internet, it was almost impossible to put the genie back in the bottle. That thought hit me like a gut punch.

Chase hesitated, unsure how to continue. His coworker, Ben Carter, grabbed the phone and started talking. Ben’s voice was sharper, a little more defensive. He was the kind of guy who didn’t back down from a fight, and I could tell he was just as angry as I was. His words came out in a rush, each sentence sharper than the last.

“Evans, you have no idea how cocky they were.”

“This morning, Chase and I were doing rounds. They were supposed to stay hospitalized for a week, but when we got there, Frank Dalton was packing up, saying he wanted to leave early. We asked why, and he said he couldn’t find the doctor who did his mom’s surgery all day yesterday, and asked if you ran off after taking the cash.”

“Chase was furious and explained that you were a specialist from Chicago, only responsible for the surgery, and he’d be handling the follow-up. Frank made a scene in the ward, saying you had to follow up, and if he couldn’t see you, he wanted the money back.”

“Chase explained it wasn’t a bribe, it was an expert fee for you flying in to do the surgery, but Frank cursed, saying he only knew it was a bribe, and if he didn’t get the money back, he’d expose us.”

“I thought he was just bluffing, so I dragged Chase away. Anyway, a difficult patient leaving early is good for us. I was even relieved. Never thought we’d see that video soon after.”

Ben’s words came out in a rush, each sentence sharper than the last. I could tell he’d replayed the argument in his head a dozen times, wishing he’d handled it differently. The frustration was palpable.

Hearing this, it was clear the family had planned to get the money back all along—the video was obviously pre-recorded, so they were prepared from the start. They probably didn’t expect I’d leave right after the surgery, and maybe were afraid they wouldn’t find me or the hospital would deny it, so they left early and started their refund plan ahead of schedule. The realization stung. I’d been played, and there was nothing I could do about it. I clenched my teeth.

Willing to get his mom’s surgery, but for four hundred bucks, he didn’t care about the just-operated patient and left early. It’s ridiculous—who knows if that’s filial or not. I shook my head, disbelief and anger swirling together. The whole thing was surreal.

“Did you see them again?”

I wanted to know if there was any chance of fixing this, of setting the record straight. My hope was fading.

I know Chase’s character. In this kind of situation, he’s probably more upset than I am, and wouldn’t just let it go. Not telling me right away was probably because he wanted to handle it himself first, and if he could fix it, I wouldn’t have to worry. He always tried to shield us from the fallout.

Ben Carter continued:

“Of course. After seeing the video, we went to the house. Frank was real smug, saying we were there to beg him. Chase explained the fee again, but he wouldn’t listen, insisting the four hundred was a bribe. If we wanted the video deleted, we had to give the money back.”

Ben’s voice was tight, barely controlled. I could picture the scene—Frank lounging on his porch, arms crossed, daring them to make the next move. The image made my blood boil.

“Did you give the money back?”

My voice suddenly rose, and even my wife, folding laundry in the living room, poked her head in and mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head to let her know it was nothing. She raised an eyebrow, concern etched on her face. I forced a smile, hoping she wouldn’t press the issue. The last thing I needed was to drag her into this mess.

Ben was startled too, and lowered his voice: “Uh, Chase was worried the video would blow up and hurt you, so he immediately Venmo’d the four hundred back to him.”

I’d guessed Chase would return the money for my sake, but hearing it still made me furious. I said into the phone, “Go on.” My jaw tightened, teeth grinding. I appreciated Chase’s loyalty, but I hated that we’d been forced into a corner. The anger simmered.

“We thought that would be the end of it, since the money was returned and Frank deleted the video in front of us. But when we got back to the hospital, the chief told us Frank had posted a new one, this time saying our hospital reported his account to get the video taken down. Now the uproar is even bigger—people are furious, saying our hospital is covering things up and bullying regular folks.”

The escalation was dizzying. I could almost see the wildfire spreading online—rumors, accusations, strangers piling on without knowing the truth. The helplessness was suffocating.

I frowned deeply. I hadn’t expected Frank to be so cunning, playing the internet so well. The original secretly filmed video was full of misleading hints, and the wording exaggerated the conflict—no wonder people online reacted so strongly. My faith in fairness wavered.

It was a losing battle. Facts didn’t matter—only perception did. I felt helpless, watching my reputation unravel in real time. The sense of injustice was overwhelming.

“What are you going to do next?”

I asked. I needed a plan, a way to fight back. I refused to let this be the end of my story. My resolve hardened.

Chase finally spoke, sounding dejected: “We’re already on our way back—almost at his house again. This time, I have to watch Frank delete his account!” His voice was heavy, tired. I could hear the frustration and exhaustion. He was running on empty, but he wasn’t about to give up. I admired his grit, even as I worried for him.

I thought for a moment. “Ben, I’ll call you on video—don’t hang up, and keep the camera on them as much as possible. Chase, turn on your phone’s video and audio recording, quietly, so they don’t notice.”

“Remember, we’re not there to argue—just explain the whole story, and make it clear about the four hundred given that morning.”

I spoke slowly, choosing my words carefully. We needed evidence, a record of what really happened. I hoped it would be enough to clear our names. The knot in my stomach tightened.

Not long after, Chase and Ben arrived. The camera showed Frank Dalton sitting on his porch, clearly expecting them. He lounged in a faded lawn chair, arms crossed, a smirk on his face. The porch was cluttered—old boots, a half-empty coffee mug, the detritus of small-town life. He looked like he owned the world. The sight made my blood boil.

Chase strode up and demanded, “Frank, I already returned the four hundred dollar expert fee to you this morning. How can you go back on your word, post the video again, and say we reported you?”

Chase’s voice was steady, but I could hear the anger simmering beneath the surface. He stood tall, refusing to be intimidated. His fists were clenched at his sides.

Frank looked around and, seeing they weren’t holding up their phones, seemed to let his guard down. He relaxed, the smirk widening. He thought he was in control. The arrogance was infuriating.

Only then did Frank speak: “Morning is morning. I already paid the hospital bills, so it’s only right you return my cash. I thought about it—if you want the video taken down, that’s another fee.”

His tone was casual, almost mocking. He tapped his foot, like he was waiting for applause. My jaw tightened.

“I already said it’s not a bribe—it’s an expert fee! Our surgery expert, Dr. Evans, my old buddy, specially flew in from Chicago. Four hundred was just for travel. If he really charged a surgery fee, four thousand wouldn’t be enough!”

Ben chimed in at the right moment. He stepped forward, voice firm. He wasn’t about to let Frank rewrite the story. His eyes flashed with anger.

“Fine, fine, call it an expert fee. Anyway, the four hundred is settled. I’m saying, if you want the video deleted, that’s another fee.”

He was clearly extorting money. The audacity stunned me. He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. My fists clenched.

“How much do you want to delete it?”

My voice was tight, barely controlled. I wanted to reach through the phone and shake some sense into him. The tension was unbearable.

“Ah, it’s a negotiation, right? Not just up to me. How about two grand?”

He leaned back, arms behind his head, like he was haggling at a yard sale. The arrogance was infuriating. My blood pressure spiked.

“What? Are you out of your mind!”

Ben had never seen someone so shameless—he was stunned. He gaped, speechless. For once, words failed him. The silence was deafening.

“Two thousand, and I’ll delete the account right now. Or you can have the account. I promise I’ll never mention this again. I figure your hospital’s reputation is worth at least two grand, right?”

“I’ll give you half a day to think about it. Otherwise, even if I want to delete it, it’ll be too late—just look at how viral it’s gotten already.”

With that, Frank leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs, looking smug. He acted like he’d already won, like we were just pawns in his game. The sun glinted off his sunglasses, and for a moment, I wondered how many times he’d pulled this stunt before. My stomach churned.

Ben was furious and wanted to drag Chase away, but Chase stopped him, turned to Frank, and said, “If we give you the money, you’ll definitely delete the account?”

Chase’s voice was cold, measured. He wasn’t about to be played twice. His eyes narrowed.

Frank grinned, “I keep my word.”

He winked, as if this was all just business as usual. The arrogance was suffocating.

Chase was about to pull out his phone, but I immediately shouted, “Don’t give it to him!”

The words burst out of me, louder than I intended. My wife startled in the other room, dropping a sock. I didn’t care. Enough was enough. I wasn’t going to let him extort us—not now, not ever.