I was still smiling when I set the phone face-down on my desk and forced myself back to work.
By four o’clock, my eyes were tired and my coffee was cold again, but I’d built a preliminary strategy to protect Ridgeway Medical Center—and its staff—in our meeting with the Hart family. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.
My phone rang. A glance at the screen made me groan aloud. I let it go for two rings before picking up.
“Hello, Liz. You’re working late tonight.”
“Harper, hi. Catch me up on your meeting with Dr. Vaughn.”
I leaned back in my chair, already anticipating where this was headed. “It was positive overall. Productive. He’s reasonable, and I don’t see any red flags from a liability perspective.”
I heard her soft exhale on the other end of the line. “That’s reassuring.” Papers shuffled, followed by the click of her office door. “And his attitude during the meeting? Did he seem receptive to the plan?”
The subtext was clear. She wanted to know if he’d roll over when the time came.
“He’s frustrated, to be honest,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Which is understandable. But he’s willing to work with us to address the family’s concerns.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear.” Another pause, long and tense. I picked up my pen, tapping it against my desk, waiting her out. “Harper, you do realize the stakes here, how delicate this situation is, right? The Hart family has considerable influence, and if they decide to make this death an issue?—”
“I understand, Liz.”
“Be sure you do. I need to know you’re approaching this the right way. Dr. Vaughn is an excellent surgeon, but surgeons don’t always see the bigger picture.”
The pen stilled in my hand. “You brought this to me, Liz. Dumped it right in my lap. Either you believe I can handle it properly or you don’t.”
“I wouldn’t have brought it to you otherwise, Harper,” she said, her tone cool as ice over the line. “I simply want to know if Vaughn is going to be a problem.”
“Only if you disagree that Dr. Vaughn is competent and his management of this case was above board. If we position this as his failure, we’re setting ourselves up for a situation that will hurt more than if the Hart family withdraws their support.”
“It’s not my goal to imply that Dr. Vaughn is incompetent.”
“Then what is the goal?”
“I just need you to manage the situation, to make sure that when that attorney starts asking questions, we have clear answers that protect RMC. We don’t need to give them any soft spots to target.”
“I can do that.” I kept my voice level even as my jaw tightened. “But I won’t do it by helping RMC sacrifice a good surgeon.”
“No one is asking you to.” But her tone said otherwise. “Keep me updated. And Harper? Remember whose side you’re on.”
She hung up before I could respond. My jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached.
Remember whose side I was on?
I was on the hospital’s side—and that included Dr. Vaughn.
The sun was starting to sink below the hills, casting long shadows across the parking lot. Somewhere in the building, Cole was finishing his day, talking to families, doing the work that had gotten him into this mess in the first place.
And somewhere in Administration, people were deciding how to protect themselves at his expense.
I slid behind the wheel of my car and turned Megan Thee Stallion up until the speakers vibrated, letting heavy bass lines drown out my thoughts for the slow crawl through rush hour traffic. Forty minutes later, I pulled through the gates of my apartment complex, the sky a beautiful gradient of orange and pink.
Inside, I kicked off my heels, let my bag drop to the couch, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. I pulled a bottle of Malbec from the wine fridge and poured a glass, then carried it to the living room, settled onto the couch, and sat in the dark.
The day replayed in my mind like a film I couldn’t stop watching.
The betrayal in Cole’s eyes when I told him the hospital would always protect itself first.
The slight tremor in his voice when he talked about losing Mr. Greene.
