Chapter 3 — The Lawsuit Begins
Dr. Ethan Harris
The hospital boardroom was a bastion of calculated detachment, its glass walls reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights and the polished white table that stretched its length. Dr. Ethan Harris sat at the head, his posture impeccable, hands clasped tightly under the table where the tension in his fingers remained hidden. The air hummed with an undercurrent of unease, the kind that came with discussions where reputations—and perhaps careers—hung in the balance.
“We’re facing a public relations nightmare,” Mrs. Connor, the hospital’s chief administrator, stated crisply, breaking the silence. Her thin-framed glasses caught the glare of the overhead lights as she turned her sharp gaze on Ethan. “Dr. Harris, I trust you’ve been briefed on the malpractice allegations?”
“I have,” Ethan replied, his tone measured and composed. He kept his expression neutral, though his mind churned under the weight of her words. Facts first. Always facts first. The patient’s name flashed unbidden in his memory—Mrs. Kessler. The sterile smell of the operating room. The delay. The aftermath.
Mrs. Connor continued, her voice clipped and methodical. “The claim states that the patient’s death was caused by a delay in intervention during a routine appendectomy. The media has already begun to speculate, and our major donors are concerned about the hospital’s reputation. This situation requires delicate handling.”
The room stirred with unease. Administrators exchanged murmurs, their gazes darting toward Ethan as though gauging his reaction. At the far end of the table, Dr. Samantha Blake leaned back in her chair, her green eyes narrowing with calculated interest. Her smirk was barely perceptible, but Ethan caught it—she was enjoying this.
“We’ll need a public statement,” Samantha interjected smoothly, her voice cutting through the tension like a scalpel. “One that reinforces the hospital’s commitment to excellence while tactfully distancing the institution from any individual liability.”
She let the word "liability" linger, her eyes locking briefly with Ethan’s. Her tone was honeyed, but her intent was barbed, and the faint curl of her lips only reinforced the impression. He stared at her for a moment, then shifted his gaze back to Mrs. Connor without rising to the bait.
“I’ll cooperate fully with the investigation,” Ethan said, his voice firm but clipped. “The case in question is from five years ago. The initial review exonerated me of wrongdoing then, and I have no doubt that the facts will do so again.”
Samantha tilted her head slightly, her sleek black ponytail swaying as she did. “Of course, Dr. Harris. We all trust your surgical expertise.” Her smile widened fractionally, her tone now laced with false reassurance. “But you understand that perception is just as important as truth in these matters. Even the slightest seed of doubt can erode trust in not just you, but the institution as a whole.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, his fingers curling slightly under the table. The memory of Mrs. Kessler’s pale, lifeless face loomed in his mind, a ghost haunting the edges of his controlled demeanor. He forced his focus back to the present, where perception and reality were equally damning.
“This meeting is not about assigning blame,” Mrs. Connor cut in sharply, reclaiming the room’s focus. “Dr. Harris, your role as Chief Surgeon remains unchanged during the investigation. Your responsibility is to maintain the department’s performance while we address the legal and media concerns.”
“Understood,” Ethan replied with a curt nod, though the weight on his chest felt heavier than it had moments ago.
The meeting adjourned. As board members filed out, Samantha lingered near the glass door. She waited until the last administrator exited before turning to Ethan, her heels clicking faintly on the polished floor.
“Difficult position you’re in, isn’t it?” she said, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. “If you need advice on navigating... complicated waters, I’d be happy to help.”
Ethan looked up, his piercing blue eyes narrowing. “I appreciate the offer, Dr. Blake, but I’m fully capable of handling this myself.”
Her smirk widened as she stepped closer, lowering her voice further. “Of course you are. But remember, reputation is everything in this field. Once trust is lost, it’s almost impossible to regain.”
Without waiting for a reply, she strode away, her heels reverberating in sharp, deliberate strikes. Ethan exhaled slowly through his nose, anger simmering just beneath the surface. Samantha’s words gnawed at him, not because of her condescension, but because there was truth in them. Trust was fragile. And his own past had a way of clawing back to the surface, no matter how deeply it was buried.
---
The buzz of the hospital greeted Ethan like a discordant symphony as he returned to the surgical wing. Phones rang ceaselessly, footsteps echoed against the linoleum, and monitors beeped in erratic patterns. Normally, the cacophony was a grounding force, a familiar rhythm that sharpened his focus. Today, it only underscored the weight pressing on his chest.
He stepped into the operating theatre, its immaculate sterility a stark contrast to the chaos outside. The soft hum of machines and the faint antiseptic scent enveloped him, momentarily anchoring him in the precision he so often relied on. The black leather of his monogrammed scalpel case gleamed under the fluorescent lights, every detail meticulously maintained.
Ethan opened the case with deliberate care, inspecting each scalpel in turn. His hands moved mechanically, the ritual as practiced and precise as the motions of a surgery. One blade bore the faintest smudge—imperceptible to anyone else, but glaringly obvious to him. He set it aside, his jaw tightening. It wasn’t perfect. And without perfection, the cracks in his armor threatened to widen.
The sound of the theatre doors swinging open jolted him from his thoughts. He turned to see Nurse Lila Bennett, her floral stethoscope a bright, incongruous detail in the stark, sterile space.
“Dr. Harris,” she said, her voice warm yet professional. She paused, hesitating as though considering whether to proceed. “I thought you’d want to know—Jamie Diaz is asking for you. He’s convinced you’re the only one who can solve his ‘medical mystery.’”
Ethan frowned lightly. “Jamie Diaz?”
“The boy from the pediatric ward,” Lila clarified, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Sixteen years old, self-proclaimed stand-up comedian, and apparently your newest fan.”
A ghost of a smile flickered across Ethan’s lips before disappearing. “I’ll speak with him later. Thank you, Nurse Bennett.”
She didn’t leave immediately. Instead, she studied him with quiet intent, her hazel eyes searching his face. “Are you all right, Dr. Harris? You’ve seemed... preoccupied lately.”
“I assure you, I’m fine,” he replied, his tone clipped and final.
Lila hesitated, her frown deepening slightly. Her voice softened. “If you ever need to talk—about anything—just know you’re not alone in this.”
Her words lingered as she left the theatre, the gentle click of the door reverberating in her wake. Ethan stood motionless, her concern an unwelcome but undeniable presence in his mind.
---
By the time Ethan arrived at the pediatric ward, the day had worn on him like a heavy coat. The ward’s bright murals and lively energy contrasted sharply with the sterile monotony of the surgical wing. Jamie Diaz sat upright in his bed, a battered sketchbook balanced on his knees.
“Dr. Harris!” Jamie greeted him with exaggerated enthusiasm. “About time you showed up. I was starting to think you didn’t care.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching ever so slightly. “I assure you, Mr. Diaz, I care deeply about all my patients. What can I do for you?”
Jamie held up his sketchbook, revealing a cartoonish drawing of Ethan as a brooding superhero, complete with a surgical mask and flowing cape. The resemblance was uncanny, though the exaggerated sharpness of his features made Ethan look far more severe than he intended.
“I figured you could use a pick-me-up,” Jamie said, his grin mischievous. “You know, since you always look like the weight of the world’s on your shoulders.”
Ethan stared at the drawing for a moment, unsure whether to be amused or insulted. “Is that how I appear to you?”
Jamie shrugged nonchalantly. “Pretty much. But don’t worry—it’s part of your whole charm. You’re like Batman. Super intense, but secretly awesome.”
Lila appeared in the doorway, her smile soft as she observed the exchange. “Jamie’s been working on that all day. He said it’s his way of saying thanks for not being boring.”
Ethan glanced at her, then back at Jamie. Something about the boy’s relentless optimism, his refusal to let his circumstances dim his humor, struck a chord Ethan hadn’t felt in years.
“Thank you, Jamie,” Ethan said quietly, his voice tinged with something almost unrecognizable—warmth. “I’ll do my best to live up to the role.”
Jamie beamed. “You better. Superheroes always come back stronger, right?”
For the first time that day, a faint spark of determination stirred within Ethan. Jamie deserved answers. Ethan would find them—for the boy, for the hospital, and perhaps, for himself.
