2. No Harm, No Foul

2

No Harm, No Foul

Brighton

Tuesday, May 9 th

8:07 a.m.

My mind does some jacked-up shit when faced with the unimaginable. It's the trauma brain in action—jumping to conclusions, racing through scenarios.

But this is excessive, even for me.

I speed past the horde of news vans blocking the parking garage and into the front lot closest to the hospital entrance, devising a way to get from here to there without making a scene.

The press lines the sidewalk to the hospital, cameras flashing like erratic fireflies. I glance into my rearview mirror, steeling myself.

I can do this. I'll ignore them.

How could he do this to me?

No warning. No protection. Nothing.

Luca had to know before the phone call last night. And why didn't he warn me about this? I take my time stepping out of my truck and brace myself for the trek to the glass doors and the safety they'll provide.

As I approach, a group of reporters descends on me like vultures, shouting questions in my wake. I make my way through the bottleneck and onto the landing. The frenzy of probing eyes and flashing cameras follow me to the front of the hospital. My irritation builds as I climb each step to the entrance, trying to keep my head down and my mouth shut.

"Are you aware of the malpractice litigation against Mount Sinai West?" one reporter prods, thrusting a mic in my face.

Malpractice. The word hangs in the air, heavy and ominous. What a stupid question. Of course, I know about the litigation. My thoughts spin. I hustle past them, hoping my evasiveness will be enough to get them off my back.

More microphones get shoved in my face, accusations and questions firing off like bullets as I elbow through them.

" . . . is the hospital going to cover up this case like it has all the others . . . ?"

" . . . no confirmation of how many victims are named in the lawsuit. Do you have more information . . . ?"

" . . . Is there concern about no longer being considered a nationally renowned cancer treatment institution . . . ?"

My attempt to not react is wearing thin. The need to give them a piece of my mind and get them off my back gnaws at me with each step I take. But I keep myself in check. The last thing I need is for them to twist something I say when I'm not thinking straight.

I hurry up the last steps, the chaos at my heels, a relentless chorus of questions humming in the air. I can't wrap my head around the accusations rolling off their tongues.

"This isn't the first malpractice lawsuit this year. Has a pattern been noted?" spouts off another. The claim freezes me to the spot. If I engage, there's no telling where things could go.

With a few more steps, I can put all this behind me. The security guard standing next to the sliding glass doors is all the assurance I need.

"No comment," I snap. I cover my face with an arm, ducking away from the reporters as I try to keep a hold of my laptop and the files in my hand. If another reporter shoves a mic at me, I won't be held liable for my actions.

I drop my gaze and concentrate on each step as I close in on the doors.

Most of the crowd remains on the landing outside the entrance as I rush inside the first set of doors, but I'm not lucky enough to avoid them all.

"Chris Jenks, Fox 5 New York." Of course he's the one who has the gall to continue after me. "Can you give us any information regarding the victims?"

I stop and turn, step away from the final threshold, and pin him with a scowl. Who does he think he is?

My next frustrated step away from Jenks is the only invitation he needs to continue. "Is that a yes?" He follows me, ushering his cameraman ahead of him.

I bite my tongue and make eye contact with the guard.

"Do you care to share your thoughts on the malpractice lawsuit?" A veneer of politeness wrapped in optimism spreads across his face as he forces the mic closer, following me stride for stride toward the elevators.

"No comment."

The security guard stops Mr. Jenks and his cameraman with a stern look and a single hand on his belt. "This is private property. You can't go past here."

I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Hey!" the guard shouts.

I jolt, looking over my shoulder at the sound of hurried footsteps.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." I steel my spine and rush past the front desk, the elevator a few steps away.

Jenks calls out another asinine question.

Kline's not going to hear the end of this. I can't believe he'd trap me in this sort of situation. I jump into the elevator, punching the button to close the doors.

"Hang on a minute!" The heel of a boot wedges between them.

I turn to glare at the unwanted occupant and am met by a glint of shrewd presumption. The doors seal him inside with me, plunging the elevator into an awkward scramble before silence settles between us.

"You're named in the lawsuit alongside Dr. Matthews," he says with an air of nonchalance as if he were bringing up the weather. "What can you tell us about the allegations?" He pulls out his cell phone and presses record, holding the phone in the air to catch whatever he thinks I may say. The weight of his scrutiny intensifies as my jaw ticks with the strain of silence.

Confirmation of the allegations from someone else's mouth is the final straw. Jenks' words strike like lightning, sending shockwaves through my brain. My reticence could imply guilt, but I have no intention of confirming his suspicions.

He seems to sense my weakness like it's plastered across my forehead. "The people have a right to know."

Jenks' smile deepens in response to my visible discomfort, a tyrant celebrating my vulnerability. "The allegations involve patients under your care. Can you at least confirm or deny your involvement?"

I hold up a hand to stop him in his tracks. "I take every patient's well-being seriously"—I cover myself with a layer of indifference—"I won't discuss specifics because of the ongoing investigation."

Should I have ignored him? Probably. Does my need to put him in his place outweigh my instincts? Absolutely. Rage creeps up my neck, my sweating palms crimping the edges of the folders caught in my grip.

"I'm going to get the information I want from someone. That could be you, or . . ."

My heart pounds and my weak attempts at composure are failing me when I need them most. "I won't comment on individual cases. Patient confidentiality is—"

"This could tarnish your spotless reputation, Dr. Fields. What would you like to say to those who doubt your competence?" He thrusts his phone into my face, his grin turning predatory.

My jaw clenches, and I tighten my grip on the folders to guarantee I don't do something stupid. "No comment."

Being nationally renowned for unconventional treatment of cancers and the use of groundbreaking protocols got me on the map. And my drive and dedication toward finding answers got me into the ever-looming mess with Kline. It has nothing to do with my competence.

The elevator pings its arrival on the seventh floor. The doors glide open, and I step out, Jenks following me like a shadow.

I freeze. Lauren, my nurse, leans against the nurses' station, poised for my arrival. She greets me with a curt smile and a look of confusion. "You're late."

"What are you doing here?" I never get red carpet treatment.

"It's out of character. I've been worried." She rushes to my side, falling in step beside me. She drops her voice to a whisper. "The meeting starts in fifteen. I figured you'd be early. You okay?"

I gaze over my shoulder, finding Jenks watching from where he stopped beside the elevator.

"I'll be ready for answers as soon as you're ready to give them," he calls to me and waves before he steps back into the elevator.

The nerve.

Lauren ushers me toward the door leading into the back hallway.

My hand isn't steady as I swipe my badge across the square pad on the wall. It gives me a red light. I swipe again, trying to tamp down the trembling in my hand. Red again.

Lauren leans forward, swiping her badge across the pad. It flashes green, and she guides me into the hall.

With each step, the realization that the malpractice lawsuit is not merely a legal ordeal but rather a storm threatening to dismantle the foundation of my career settles into my brain.

My bag slips from my shoulder and slides down my arm into the files and laptop in my hand. A myriad of emotions course through me—disbelief, anger, and fear—along with an overwhelming need to find answers. The idea that Kline is behind this fuels my determination to unravel the accusations surrounding the situation.

I can't believe this is happening. I take a steadying breath as I try to get my rising temper under control.

My chest tightens. I can't breathe. My vision blurs, sounds muffle. Colleagues offer sympathetic glances as we weave our way down the hall. Conversations go silent.

"I need a few minutes," I say, turning to Lauren as we stop at the L-shaped junction of the halls.

Her face crinkles in confusion. "But the meeting—"

"Will be better if I get my information in order."

I jam my key into the lock and enter my office as Lauren asks, "Need me to come get you?" Her brow creases with worry.

"Luca said they need to talk to Kline too. They can start with him. I'll be on time. I always am." I give her a half-hearted smile. "I have something I need to take care of." I don't leave room for argument, closing the door behind me.

I fall into my chair, already opening my laptop to delve into the online reports of the lawsuit again. I need to make sure my material is correct. I piece together fragments of information from different websites, but each one contradicts the next, and the supposed facts behind what's going on with the malpractice start to disintegrate.

A resolve crystallizes in me, along with my need to confront this head-on. My commitment to the well-being of my patients remains unwavering as I sift through the intricacies of the lawsuit. The allegations are complex and intertwined with patient outcomes, medical decisions, and a death.

All at the hands of one person. Kline continues to pop up from one page to the next. His promotions. His speeches. His rights and his wrongs. But there's no mention of my name being attached.

Anywhere.

It doesn't make sense. Luca mentioned it, and Jenks won't drop it. Is there something they're not telling me?

My thoughts continue to tangle as the weight of this becomes too real. I will not let Kline hold this over me.

Not again.