American Medicine: I survived the death knell thanks to the devil.

More than forty reporters looked up at the same time.

The public relations manager's face froze.

She instinctively turned to the side and reached for the microphone in front of Julian.

Dean Wilson's face was ashen. He leaned forward, his left hand pressing down on the table, his knuckles white.

Backstage.

Old Cabot stood behind the side curtain, his water glass suspended in mid-air.

He made a gesture with his other hand, palm down, pressing down.

The meaning is clear: denial.

Don't bring up this topic; let PR handle it.

Julian saw it.

He could read his father's every gesture from a young age.

At the dinner table, in the conference room, and during surgical observation.

Each one is an instruction.

He obeyed every single one of them.

one second.

two seconds.

The PR manager's hand had already touched the microphone base.

If he simply lets go and allows the public relations team to take over, this matter can be easily dismissed with a simple "we will provide a unified response after review."

He had even prepared his next expression: a slight frown to indicate "I'm confused too," before handing the microphone over.

three seconds.

Julian's gaze swept across the press section and landed at the very back of the hall.

in the corner.

Lynn stood there.

He was holding a cup of coffee.

There was no anxiety, no expectation, and they weren't even looking at the podium.

He was looking down at his phone, as if he was looking up something.

It could be the patient's test results, or it could be something else completely unimportant.

It was as if this press conference had nothing to do with him.

It was as if he didn't care whose name was written on the press release.

In that instant, Julian suddenly understood something.

Lynn doesn't need him to speak for her.

Whether Julian Cabot tells the truth or not is probably of no importance to Lynn.

What matters is only Julian Cabot himself.

Four seconds.

The images from last night's video came flooding back.

It wasn't Lynn's hand.

It was his own face.

That face, holding up the hook, eyes wide, utterly stunned.

That black hardcover notebook that had been with him for eight years contained things he had personally written and verified on every page.

Not a single word was stolen.

None of the data sets were borrowed.

Every page of that notebook had to be spotless.

If he gives up the microphone today, the notebook will get dirty.

From this day forward, Julian Cabot's resume will forever bear the mark of a surgery that wasn't performed on him.

Everyone will remember him as "the young genius who saved the Speaker".

Professor Ross's invitation, interviews with industry journals, and future grant applications will all be based on this surgery.

A skyscraper built on someone else's foundation.

He can't move in.

Five seconds.

"Dr. Cabot?" The female reporter was still waiting.

Julian stepped aside, avoiding the PR manager's hand.

The public relations manager stood there, his hand hanging in the air, caught in a dilemma.

Julian picked up the microphone.

"Speaker Dawson's surgery—"

He gave the entire room one last look.

"The surgeon is Lynn."

A collective gasp filled the room.

The shutters of more than forty cameras clicked simultaneously, like a dense raindrop pounding on a tin roof.

"I was the second assistant. Dr. Victoria Vanderbilt was the first assistant. The person who performed the core procedures throughout the entire process, from opening the chest and locating the bleeding point to suturing and closing the chest, was Dr. Lynn."

He paused for a moment.

"My job is to use a traction device to expose the surgical field."

After saying his last sentence, Julian gently placed the microphone back on the table.

The flashes went off like crazy, and the sound of the shutters drowned out everything else.

The reporters became agitated like sharks smelling blood; some in the front row stood up, while others in the back shouted for more questions.

The public relations manager stood there dumbfounded, mouth agape, unable to utter a single word.

She was still clutching the press release in her hand.

That press release, which took three people from the public relations department working overtime all night to write, and whose every word was reviewed by the legal department.

It's worthless now.

Dean Wilson closed his eyes.

A sharp crack came from backstage; it was the water glass in old Cabot's hand shattering on the floor.

Julian stood up, pushed open the side door to the right of the podium, and left.

The moment the door closed behind him, his mind went completely blank.

It's like performing a surgery that requires no thought.

He put down the knife, turned around, and left.

The corridor is very long.

His leather shoes made a rhythmic sound as they stepped on the ground.

Behind me, the clamor of the hall surged in like a tide, only to be separated into another world by that door.

Julian walked to the fire escape stairwell at the end of the corridor, pushed open the fire door, and sat on the steps.

He took the question-and-answer card out of his suit pocket.

I looked at it for two seconds, then tore it up.

The fragments fell onto the concrete ground at my feet.

He leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and let out a long breath.

My stomach stopped churning.

He was finally free from being that puppet on a string.

Lynn stood in the back corner, her coffee getting a little cold.

He watched Julian push open the door and walk out.

Until the door was completely closed.

Cassie, who was next to him, finally remembered to breathe, gasped, and muttered under her breath, "Is he crazy?"

Lynn didn't respond.

This wasn't in the plan.

His original plan was for the female reporter to ask questions, and for the hospital to respond in a flurry of activity.

The contradiction between the wording in the press release and the sign-in records was brought to the forefront, causing public opinion to ferment. Then, at the right moment, the surveillance video was released, which was the real killer move.

Throughout the process, Julian's role should be passive.

Either cover for the hospital or remain silent.

Both outcomes are favorable to Lynn.

If he lies, he will have more leverage against him in the future; if he remains silent, public opinion will naturally question him.

He never expected Julian would flip the table himself.

But for Lynn, this outcome was better than any of his original plans.

Julian's personal admission carries more weight than any anonymous leak.

The media's favorite stories are never "anonymous sources exposing inside stories," but rather "the parties involved publicly turning against each other."

How long this news will stay a hot topic depends on how Wilson handles it.

But his real trump card—the complete surgical video and the attending physicians' excuses—doesn't need to be played yet.

Keeping it is more valuable than firing it.

On the platform, Wilson opened his eyes again.

After a few seconds of commotion in the hall, he slowly stood up, made a gesture with his hands to signal the reporters to be quiet.

"Everyone, everyone."

His voice was slightly hoarse.

"I understand Dr. Cabot's feelings regarding what he just said."

The noise level in the venue dropped.

"As a young doctor, he made what he believed was the right choice under immense pressure. I respect his courage."

Wilson paused, as if organizing his thoughts.

"Regarding the specific division of labor and record-keeping within the surgical team, I must admit that the hospital made oversights in its information dissemination process. This is a management responsibility, and I will not shirk it."

He looked at the reporters below the stage.

"I have asked the Academy Council to immediately launch an internal review. All decision-making processes and documents related to this matter will be re-verified."

"During this period, we will remain transparent to the public and the media."

In less than thirty seconds, Wilson completed three moves.

First, redefining Julian's betrayal as a righteous act by the young doctor resolves the open conflict between the hospital and Julian.

Second, they shifted the blame for altering the press release to vague procedural oversights and management, neither admitting to forgery nor naming anyone.

Third, use internal review to buy time. By the time the reporters leave and the review results are released, the hype surrounding the incident will have died down.

The maximum score is 10 points, but the minimum is 8 points.

The two points were deducted because Wilson overlooked two things.

First, he assumed the crisis originated from Julian's impromptu idea. He didn't know who had given the freelance writer the attendance records and post-operative briefing.

Secondly, he thought that once the hospital deleted the operating room surveillance footage, it would really disappear.

The press conference ended hastily amidst chaos.

Reporters rushed to the exit; some were on the phone, some were making live calls to the cameras, and some were chasing after the public relations officer for an official response from the hospital.

The news spread faster than Lynn had anticipated.

Less than an hour after the press conference ended, New York's 1st Channel midday news featured a special report on it.

The headline reads: "Controversy over Speaker's Surgery: Metropolitan Hospital Doctors Publicly Rebut Official Press Release at Press Conference."

At 2 PM, the New York Post website also changed its headline:

"Who saved the speaker? A public hospital resident was hidden, and a second-generation doctor from a prestigious family publicly admitted to impersonation."

The accompanying image was a screenshot of Julian picking up the microphone at the press conference.

All afternoon, the phrase "Who is Lynn?" kept circulating on local New York social media.