6. No Proof Necessary

6

No Proof Necessary

Brighton

Tuesday, May 9 th

9:09 a.m.

Kline's an idiot.

No, idiot is too generous a word.

I drop into my seat and shake the mouse to wake up my computer. The issue is plain as day. I thought there was nothing incriminating inside the file, but I was wrong. I just wasn't looking in the right place. It's not in the paper file, it's been in the database this whole time. I know this file forward and backward, like all the others, but this wasn't there before. I would have caught it. I re-read the report, stopping where Kline dictated the patient's surgical findings—the part he does after I've already electronically signed—and see what everyone else has been missing.

The part that was edited two days ago.

The chart shows the original note dated a month prior with the new edits and updates. I flip back and forth between the patient's chart and the computer screen, losing my place. Why do we still use this archaic form of charting? Half of it's on the computer, and the other half is in a file. This couldn't have happened if we kept better records.

Bill Lee, Stage II anaplastic thyroid cancer. Chemo failed; surgery ensued.

But chemo didn't fail. His CT scan shows he's clear. His cancer had a high chance of recurrence, but there was no need to take him under the knife.

I consider giving Kline the benefit of the doubt. There has to be a logical explanation. He forgot to add notes at the initial follow-up visit, or the paperwork got misplaced and he added it once he found it. The more excuses I make for him, the more it seems like this was deliberate.

What is he up to? From the looks of it, it seems like insurance fraud. But why? And why is he including me? I return the chart to the cabinet.

The next patient's note lists surgery for a tumor biopsy on February third. But the electronic file on the computer says the patient had chemoradiotherapy for six weeks. I only find it because I'm looking. I lean back in my chair, shocked. I want to scream, but all that comes out is a strangled, whispered groan. "Fuck."

The timing coincides with the lawsuits, but could it be more? I click on the insurance tab and scroll to where it shows the treatment billed for a therapy that was never performed. The date of the surgery and a simple follow-up are the last appointments noted. The supposed six weeks of chemo never happened.

I grab the last file and pull her up. It's the same damn thing. Strange changes to the chart a couple of months after surgery. After I signed. I don't like this. Who has access to the files? Doctors, nurses, billing? I reevaluate, think through the idea of who would want access to the files. Who would want to do something like this?

My jaw tenses. Rebecca Smith, Neuroblastoma in the file—leukemia on the computer—changed a month after treatment ended. I'm so lost. The remaining files get put back between the J and K.

Why would he include me? He could have easily gotten away with this on his own, but changing things on the charts I worked with him raises the chances of him getting caught.

What's his motive? Money? The sake of getting away with it? To lord it over me? A challenge? More blackmail? The possibilities are endless, and none of them make sense.

I don't want to be a snitch, but someone needs to see this. Someone besides me, someone important. Like Luca. If I can show this to him, get him to understand—I'm in the clear.

I scoot my chair and turn to face the filing cabinet in one push. I grab the files and return to my desk, scribbling notes on Post-its and tabbing them on the pages where I find the errors. The USB refuses to go into the port, and I rotate it twice before I get it to insert. I copy the notes of the chart inconsistencies onto the drive. Twice. And email them to myself for good measure.

The back of my desk drawer would probably be the safest place to hide the drive. I open the side with the lock and slide the extra pens and highlighters out of the way, dropping the USB at the back. I close the drawer and change my mind. It'll be safer if I keep it on me, and I slide it into my breast pocket, patting it to make sure it doesn't stick out.

A quick search on the internet reminds me I can't scan the paper evidence onto my phone. It's against HIPAA regulations, but there's no way I can get copies of the paper charts without Lauren getting suspicious. Maybe in the file room? That copier is the worst.

I bite my lip as I lean at the waist to eye the files on my desk. The pile is too thick to slip under Luca's door. I need to streamline the evidence to what's essential.

Shit. Why didn't I keep my mouth shut? If Luca gets these, Kline will suspect they came from me, even if he doesn't know which files I have. I need to come up with another way to get these to Luca, a way to get Kline to wrap the noose around his own neck.

A knock at the door has me scrambling as panic lances through me. My mind is already weaving a million explanations as I stuff the papers back into the files between J and K. He can't find out which patients I have. The thought of being caught by Kline pops into my brain like a jolt of electricity.

I check over my shoulder. My stomach plummets and rebounds. The door remains closed. There's another knock. I cringe as the cabinet squeaks and shove my foot against the floor, rolling the chair to face my desk as I paste on a faux smile. Copies can wait.

I try to swallow, but it's like my esophagus is in a vise. In a matter of point two seconds, the knock comes again.

"Dr. Fields, you in there?"

It's Lauren.

My next breath comes easy.

"I have some messages for you."

I rush to the door and open it. She doesn't wait to be invited in as she reads off the slips. "There's a Mr. Blakely who has some questions pertaining to an appointment at nine o'clock, and radiology at Lenox Hill has new patient reports to send over. You also have a meeting at two." She glances at the clock on the opposite wall and humphs her disapproval. She hates me running late almost as much as I do.

I straighten my tape dispenser and align it with the stapler, my thoughts all over the place, everywhere except on my patients and my schedule for the day—until her words click into place.

"Blakely?" I straighten the charts on my desk into a neat pile before setting them in the basket in the corner. I wanted to prepare for his case better, and with everything else on my mind, it took a back seat. And now I don't have time.

"The brother would like to see you before the appointment." She pauses, reading the paper from below her glasses frame. "He wants some information. Seems a little pushy and high maintenance."

She treks across the room and offers me the handwritten notes. The time of each message is at the top of the papers. Three calls in less than ten minutes. What is it with this guy, thinking his needs are more important than my other patients? And why is the brother calling, anyway?

Lauren clears her throat, waiting for instruction.

I smile at her. "Tell Mr. Blakely I'll be a few more minutes."

"You'll see him?" Her mouth falls open, and she grabs the edge of my desk, surprised that I'm stepping outside of our well-oiled system.

"The patient, yes. The curious brother, no. He can wait like everyone else." I stand and round my desk, stopping next to Lauren, and cross my arms over my chest. The rest hangs unsaid. But it's not computing.

Her brow barely lifts.

"Anything else?" I offer a curt smile.

"I'll get him in a room and start the paperwork." She walks into the hall, leaving my door open. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to count to ten before I blow a gasket. I don't know how many times I've told her to close the damn thing when she leaves my office.

I return to the computer and pull up the email Dr. Gibbons' office sent over. Between finding cases relevant to today's meeting and dreading what Kline had to say about it, I haven't had time to think about this damn referral.

Now that it's here, I don't know if I'm ready to deal with another case like my brother's. I shouldn't have accepted it. I know this, but it's just as easy to refer him to someone else after my initial assessment. There's no need to break protocol and keep him, especially because I'm sure every one of my choices is being dissected.

Damn Kline. I hate being in the limelight.

I never expected outright fraud or criminal deviation from the Hippocratic oath, but I have noticed some concerning patterns. Little slipups where there were no repercussions, scheduling snafus, paperwork hangups, and hiring issues.

The more I think about it, the more I'm curious if any of this plays into the timeline of his divorce. Not that it's an excuse, but something is different. He's always been an ass, but with the hell his ex has put him through, it seems like he's cracking under the pressure.

Screw it. I'm going downstairs to give this information to Luca, whether or not it implicates me. My main concern is our patients and keeping them safe. I reach into the filing cabinet and pull the three files out, stuffing them between the charts for today's clinic.

I leap from my desk with new determination. Luca needs to see these now. I flick off the light and lock my office behind me. I turn the corner at the end of the hall and collide with Kline.

He steadies me with both hands on my upper arms. "Is there a fire in the building?"

Abort mission! Abort mission!

I crack a tentative smile. "Running late for clinic."

His eyes darken when they shift to the files as I pull them to my chest, leaving me with a deep need for the earth to swallow me whole.

A smile breaks over his face. "My offer still stands."

I'm unbearably curious about what he means, and he must read it on my face.

"I'm here if you have questions," he says.

But getting these files to Luca is all my mind wants to dwell on. Handing him all the information I find is the only way I'm going to be able to clear my name. I cock my head to the side and cut my losses. "We can discuss it later." I step around him and walk backward toward the main floor, not taking my eyes off him.

"I'll join you," he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets and taking a step toward me.

I freeze and stare at him, trying to parse out how serious he is. My brain activates damage control mode, searching for any excuse to get rid of him, and stops on the first thing that pops into my mind. "I'm in a hurry."

Good one, B. What is wrong with me?

He lifts his shoulders with an air of indifference and a sly grin as he turns on his heel and retreats toward his office. "Suit yourself."

The tension leaves my body, but I don't take my eyes off him until he stops at the entrance. He gives me an easy, sinful smirk as he disappears inside.

I'm half-running to the door at the end of the hall before it registers that he's not going to drop this.

Taking these to Luca may not be my brightest idea, but at least it will move things in the right direction. I take the stairs two at a time, my lungs on fire when I surprise Luca's secretary as I race into HR and stop to catch my breath.

"May I help you?" Her voice raises an octave.

I point to the notepad on her desk and am about to explain what I need when Luca's office door flies open, and Robert hustles out, pulling the door closed behind him.

Shit.

I twist in the other direction, trying to go unseen, but get an impetuous scoff. "Dr. Fields, I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

I turn to deal with him and watch as his eyes drop from my face to the charts in my hand.

"Are those for me?" he asks.

The kernel of anxiety bursts open in my gut. "Something for Luca," I parry, sliding them behind my back.

Robert's eyes narrow.

My face is on fire.

Luca's secretary stands and leans over her desk toward me, offering a Post-It pad and pen. "Here, hon, you were saying?" Her rescue couldn't have come at a better time. She eyes Robert, and he takes it as his cue to leave after he sneers in my direction.

I get a look of sympathy from her.

And laugh despite myself. "I need to see Luca."

"He had me mark his calendar off for the morning. I can get you in this afternoon," she suggests.

I fan through the files. This could work in my favor. "I'll leave a note. Can you give these to him, please?" I'm reluctant about handing over the charts, but they're probably safer with Luca than in my office.

This has to be enough. If I found the information, he will too, right? I set the charts on her desk. What could I leave that would point him in the right direction?

I write HISTORY in all caps and underline it.