I picked up the pen. Patrick’s grin widened. I clicked it once, twice, then set it gently back on top of the unsigned letter. “Before I sign anything, Patrick, you should probably check your email.” His smile faltered. “What are you talking about?” I pulled my phone from my scrub pocket and turned the screen toward him. “Forty-three minutes ago, I forwarded eighteen months of documentation to the state medical board, the hospital’s compliance officer, and a very thorough reporter at the Tribune. Charting discrepancies. The Vicodin counts that never matched. The Mrs. Alvarez incident you told the family was ‘an unavoidable complication.'” The color drained from his face in real time, like someone had pulled a plug. “You—you wouldn’t—” “I already did.” His office phone rang. Then his cell. Then a sharp knock at the door. Two men in dark suits stepped in without waiting. “Dr. Halloway? We’re with hospital legal. We need you to come with us. Now.” Patrick stood so fast his chair rolled into the window. “Maya, please. We can fix this. I’ll double your salary. I’ll—I’ll make you Director of Nursing.” I picked up the resignation letter he’d written for me, tore it neatly in half, and laid the pieces on his desk like flower petals. “I don’t want your title, Patrick. I just want the truth on the record.” As they escorted him out, the CEO walked in, pale and shaking my hand with both of his. “Maya, the board convened an emergency session. We’d like you to step in as interim Chief of Patient Safety. Effective immediately.” Through the glass, I watched Patrick being walked past the nurses’ station—the same nurses he’d belittled for years. None of them looked away. None of them looked sorry. I straightened my crooked badge, smoothed my wrinkled scrubs, and finally, for the first time in three years, exhaled.
Brett tapped the signature line. “Come on. The farm, the lake house, the accounts. Sign.” Grandma’s voice was thin. “Hannah said I shouldn’t sign anything […]
