"Take me to the New York Presbyterian Hospital," I said to the Uber driver. "Now!"
"You know that I'm not a cabbie, miss. This is an Uber. I'm sorry, but you have to rebook the ride."
"Okay, fine," I huffed, feeling my fingers tremble. I cancelled the current booking and rebooked for the Presbyterian Hospital. In fairness, the Uber driver sensed the urgency and drove as fast as he could. In a few minutes, the hospital was in view.
I left the car and walked as fast as my legs could carry me. I had no idea why Mr. McMillan wanted to see me and by the sounds of it, it was urgent. I was a few blocks away from the hospital. I walked quickly, clutching my purse and trying to contain my panic.
It was hard not to think the worst. What if Mr. McMillan was ill? What if he was dying? I wouldn't
