“I’m not dropping this, Priya. Not after what happened last month,” Luis said firmly. Instead of backing off, he began building an airtight case file. Every single shift, he stepped outside to snap high-resolution photos, log precise timestamps, and calculate the exact seconds wasted by incoming ambulances. He even began assigning colorful nicknames to the repeat offenders inside his leather notebook.
“Look, there’s ‘Prime Time’ again,” Luis muttered under his breath to a head nurse one afternoon, snapping a quick picture of Trent Sterling’s silver Mercedes idling right beneath the emergency lamp. “He thinks having his face on a billboard gives him personal valet rights.”
Then there was “Dr. VIP,” a smug plastic surgeon who parked his wide-body Porsche near the emergency doors every Thursday afternoon like clockwork. Luis documented every single violation with quiet, obsessive precision.