Rachel pulled out her phone. “How’s next Tuesday? That should give Dr. Vaughn time to prepare.”
Time to prepare for his own execution.
Dr. Rice confirmed. “We’ll have Dr. Vaughn ready to discuss his findings.”
“Perfect.” Rachel looked at Diane, who was still staring at the table, tears streaming silently. “Mrs. Hart, let’s get you home.”
Diane stood slowly, mechanically. She picked up her purse, clutched it to her chest, and finally looked up at me. Her eyes were devastated.
“I just want to understand,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
The words hit me like a physical blow.
“Mrs. Hart,” I said gently. “I know this is hard. I know you’re looking for answers. But I promise you, your grandfather received excellent care. Dr. Vaughn did everything he could.”
“Then he should be able to tell me that himself,” Diane said.
Rachel squeezed her shoulder. “He will, Mrs. Hart. Next week, you’ll hear directly from him.”
Then she and Diane left, the door closing behind them with a soft click that somehow felt louder than a slam.
The room exhaled. Gerald and Adrienne immediately began strategizing. Dr. Webb looked at his watch, muttered something about needing to get to other meetings, and stood to leave.
I started packing up my things, hands moving mechanically while my mind raced.
I’d just watched them set Cole up. Watched them turn him from a skilled surgeon who’d made the right call into a lone actor whose judgment would be questioned, whose career could be sacrificed to appease a donor family.
And I’d stood there and let it happen.
“Harper.”
I looked up. Gerald and Adrienne were gathering their things.
“That was good work,” Gerald said. “Thorough presentation.”
“Until the end,” Adrienne added. “Next time, let us handle the objections. That’s what we’re here for.”
“I didn’t see or hear either of you actually doing that,” I said. “It would be great if you could both find your voices by next week. Dr. Vaughn will need you.”
When they left, it was just me and Dr. Rice.
“What the hell was that?” I asked before she could start.
Dr. Rice’s eyebrow arched slightly. “Excuse me?”
I tossed my binder back down to the table. “You kept Cole out of this meeting so you could frame this as his decision, not hospital policy. You let Rachel Gaines build her case that this was about one surgeon’s judgment, not RMC protocols. And now you’re feeding him to the Hart family.”
“I’m doing what’s best for RMC,” Dr. Rice said.
“You’re throwing a good surgeon under the bus to protect donor relationships.”
Dr. Rice walked to the window, her arms crossed. “Harper, let’s be very clear about something. Diane Hart’s family has contributed over fifteen million dollars to this hospital over the past decade. Her husband sits on two foundation boards. The Board chairman plays golf with Richard Hart every Sunday. Do you understand what that means?”
“You’ll sacrifice Cole’s career to keep them happy.”
“It means,” Dr. Rice said, her tone dropping to something harder, colder, “that we cannot afford to be on the wrong side of this family. It means that fifteen million dollars is a conservative estimate of what the Hart family could redirect to other hospitals. The Board chairman has already called me twice about this case. We are under a microscope, and the only way to make this go away is to give them what they want.”
“Which is Cole’s head on a platter?”
