Fine. If he wanted to play the righteous man so badly, I'd show the world exactly what kind of man Nathaniel Gilbert really was.
1.
The truth? My father had been utterly mediocre back then—no talent, no connections, nothing. It was my grandfather, Dr. Harold Winfield, who built him from the ground up. Grandpa got him into the hospital. Arranged for him to study under the best mentors. Pulled strings so he could observe every major surgery. Everything my father had, my grandfather handed to him.
And now this man—who climbed to the top on someone else's back—wanted me to step aside for appearances?
I'd respected him. I'd done everything on my own, never once asking for his help. And he repaid me by crushing my dream with a single stroke of his pen.
I snatched up the transcript and ran toward his office. Halfway there, I spotted him strolling down the corridor with Chloe, both of them laughing. She was clutching her completed onboarding paperwork.
"Alice!" He waved me over, beaming. "Chloe got in! Come congratulate her—after eight years of hardship, she's finally made it!"
He clapped her shoulder proudly.
"As for you—better luck next year!"