“Son.”
I tried to sidestep it. “Dad, I don’t?—”
“Is she a Black woman?”
I paused. No point in pretending, no point in dressing it up as anything but what it was. Harper Sutton was gorgeous, brilliant, sharp as a scalpel—and yes, a Black woman. I was losing my head over her, fast.
“Yeah.”
A deep bellow of laughter sounded over the line. “Now it makes sense. Risk Management doesn’t stick their neck out for anybody, much less for one of us. She sounds special.”
“She is.”
“Mmhmm. We’ll definitely come back to that,” he said, and I could practically see the smile on his face through the phone. “But yes, you need an attorney. Not because you did anything wrong but because despite that, the hospital seems poised to place the blame on your shoulders, which opens you up to liability issues down the line. You want someone who can make sure you don’t inadvertently say something that could be used against you later.”
“That’s what I figured.”
“Let me call Vincent Cross,” he suggested. “He’s a malpractice defense attorney out of Atlanta, but he takes cases nationally. He handled a situation for a colleague of mine a few years back. Brilliant strategist, doesn’t back down from hospitals or their legal teams.”
“Sounds good. I’d appreciate an introduction.”
“Of course. Now listen, Cole.” He paused. “I know this is hard. I know it feels like everything you’ve worked for is beingused against you. But you made the right call. Don’t let them railroad you into doubting that.”
I choked up at that. “That’s the thing—the doublespeak I’m dealing with. Like Dr. Webb agrees I did the right thing, that they have no issues with the decisions I made, but also at the first mention of trouble, I’m the problem and they need me to admit that.”
“Webb is covering his ass. That’s what department chairs do when they’ve been at it too long—they forget what it’s like to actually practice medicine, to only have a few seconds to make a decision. They get comfortable in their corner offices and forget that real doctors are down in the trenches making life-and-death decisions every day.”
“Yeah. Exactly.”
“Cole, are you listening to me? Ears open?”
“Wide open. I’m listening.”
“Good. Because I need you to hear this—you did nothing wrong. You made a judgment call; that patient’s family wasn’t there and you couldn’t wait. Any reasonable surgeon would have made the same call.”
“I know.”
“Then act like you know it. When you walk into that meeting Tuesday, you walk in with your head up. You answer their questions professionally and honestly. You don’t apologize for saving lives, and you don’t let them twist your decisions into something they weren’t.”
I closed my eyes, letting his words settle. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Now.” He paused and I felt my eyes beginning to roll. “Tell me about this Black woman in Risk Management.”
I couldn’t help my smile, knowing full well it was translating to my voice. “Her name is Harper.”
“Harper,” Dad repeated, as if he was rolling a rare coin between his fingers. “That’s a good, strong name. And this Harper is going out on a limb for you?”
“She’s trying to. It’s…You know what it’s like when most of the staff doesn’t look like you. We connected on that level pretty early and she warned me that this was a track the hospital might take.”
“Mmmmh,” he hummed, appearing to contemplate my words. “Are you personally involved?”
“Officially, absolutely not. The most professional of relationships.”
“And unofficially?”
I didn’t know what to say. Harper and I weren’t dating, but we’d been out together and spent time together and had definitely crossed a few lines that we shouldn’t have crossed. But I also didn’t regret crossing them.
“It’s complicated,” I finally said.
