Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
HARPER
The following Tuesday, I arrived at the conference room early. The air conditioning was running too cold, raising goosebumps on my arms beneath my navy suit jacket. My leather portfolio felt heavier than usual as I set it on the polished walnut table.
Dr. Rice stood at the window with her phone pressed to her ear. She ended her call and crossed the room. “The Hart family should be here at nine. Dr. Vaughn confirmed he’s attending.”
I nodded but didn’t respond. What I wanted to say was that we shouldn’t be feeding Cole to them, but I’d already lost that fight.
Adrienne and Gerald entered the room, followed by Dr. Webb, his tie already loosened at the collar though it wasn’t yet nine in the morning.
Behind him came Diane Hart and Rachel Gaines.
Diane looked worse than she had at our first meeting.
Her eyes were swollen, the skin beneath them dark and papery, her black dress hanging loose on her frame.
Rachel, on the other hand, looked like she’d sharpened her teeth on the drive over.
Her suit was cream with thin black pinstripes, her blouse the hue of dried blood.
“Mrs. Hart, Ms. Gaines.” Dr. Rice gestured to the chairs across from us. “Dr. Vaughn should be here any moment.”
They sat. Rachel opened her folio, pulled out a legal pad, clicked her pen. The sound was loud in the quiet room. The silence—the lack of small talk and polite conversation—was deafening.
I was sure Dr. Rice wanted me to play the nice hostess, stir up some chitchat. I refused. Let them be uncomfortable.
The door swung open and Cole walked in. I fought back a gasp at the sight of him, but damn. He cleaned up nice.
He wore a dark suit. Not black, the safe choice, but a deep midnight blue that made his brown skin look regal under the fluorescent lights. His shirt was crisp white, his tie a burgundy silk.
But it was the man behind him who made everyone sit up straighter.
Vincent Cross was a tall, broad dark-skinned man.
He strode into the room with the energy of a man twenty years younger than his sixty-odd years.
His hair was close-cropped, his deep olive three-piece suit impeccable, gold cufflinks catching every beam of light.
Even his caramel-colored briefcase, worn at the edges, boasted of courtroom victories.
I could not be more excited for this moment.
Dr. Rice shot to her feet so quickly her chair rolled backward and nearly hit the wall. Rachel stood as well, a deep V forming between her brows. I was amused at the observation that her bob was slightly askew.
“Oh…uh, Cole,” Dr. Rice choked out. “We weren’t advised you’d be bringing counsel. We have legal representation in the room.”
She gestured toward Adrienne and Gerald, whose expressions had fallen.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” said Cole, stretching a hand to Dr. Rice and forcing her to a tenuous, stiff handshake. “Dr. Vaughn. This gentleman is Vincent Cross, of Cross & Associates.”
“Good morning, Dr. Rice.” Vincent’s voice boomed, was rich and smooth with just enough arrogant tinge to make the moment interesting. He did not offer to shake her hand. “I’ll be representing Dr. Vaughn in this matter.”
“This isn’t a deposition,” Adrienne said. “Today is simply an opportunity for Mrs. Hart to ask Dr. Vaughn questions directly.”
“Then you won’t mind if I sit in.” The leather sighed as Vincent sat and set his briefcase on the table.
Dr. Rice and Adrienne exchanged a look. Gerald cleared his throat.
Cole sat beside Vincent, his spine straight, his hands folded on the table. His eyes found mine for half a second. I saw the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders were locked tight.
Rachel assessed Vincent, her gaze sweeping over him the way lawyers do when they’re sizing up the opposition. “Is there a reason I wasn’t informed that Dr. Vaughn would have representation? Has this meeting morphed into a legal proceeding?”
Vincent’s tone stayed pleasant, but I heard the steel underneath. “The hospital has provided representation for itself. Mrs. Hart has an attorney as well. Likewise, Dr. Vaughn saw fit to engage me to protect his personal interests. Shall we begin? I’m sure we’re all busy.”
Rachel moved to her chair. Dr. Rice sat as well and folded her hands on the table.
“As Ms. Sutton outlined in last week’s meeting, we’re here to address any remaining questions Mrs. Hart has regarding her grandfather’s care. Dr. Vaughn is present to provide clarity on the medical decisions made that day.”
“Before we begin,” Vincent said, his voice slicing through Dr. Rice’s prepared statement like a scalpel through skin.
“I’d like clarification. Are we here to review the facts of Mr. Greene’s care?
Or are we here because Ridgeway Medical Center has already decided to position my client as responsible for an outcome that was, by all medical standards, unavoidable? ”
The air conditioning kicked on with a low hum.
Finally, Rachel leaned forward. “No one has accused Dr. Vaughn of anything.”
“Then this should be a very short meeting,” he said, with a wider smile.
Vincent opened his briefcase and pulled out a stack of documents. Paper rustled as he set them on the table.
“The facts, which have already been provided to you, are clear. Dr. Vaughn and his team followed every protocol, performed an emergency procedure in an attempt to save his life, and exhausted every option available. The outcome was tragic, but it was not the result of negligence or deviation from RMC standard of care.”
“And that’s fine, but the crux of the complaint was that the family was not appropriately contacted before surgery,” Rachel argued.
“The family was not reachable.” Vincent didn’t miss a beat.
“Emergency medical protocols allow for implied consent when a patient is incapacitated and family is unavailable. Dr. Vaughn operated under those protocols. To suggest he should have waited is to suggest he should have allowed Mr. Greene to expire without intervention.”
Rachel’s jaw tightened. I watched a muscle jump near her temple and her face begin to flush. “One phone call? One message? That’s not reasonable effort.”
“It’s documented effort.”
Vincent slid a copy of the call log across the table.
“Aside from Brookside notifying Mrs. Hart that her loved one had been transported to the hospital, the ER attempted contact. A message was left. Dr. Vaughn was informed that family could not be reached. He made the decision to proceed, which was well within policy. If you’d like to argue that was the wrong decision, I’d be happy to put that argument in front of a jury and let them decide. ”
Diane pressed both hands to her face. The sounds of her ragged, uneven breathing filled the spaces between words.
“Mrs. Hart,” I said quietly. “Would you like—”
“My grandfather died alone.” Diane’s words came out halting and broken. Tears streamed down her face. “I should have been there. Someone that loved him should have been there.”
“Mrs. Hart, this is an emotional time.” Vincent’s tone changed, the steel giving way to something softer.
“Losing someone you love is painful. Feeling like you didn’t get to say goodbye makes it worse.
But this hospital did attempt to reach you, and Dr. Vaughn did everything possible to save your grandfather’s life. ”
Rachel’s pen started tapping again, click-click-click against her legal pad. “Be that as it may, the hospital has a responsibility—”
“The hospital has a responsibility to provide competent medical care. Which it did.” Vincent sat back. “What the hospital does not have is the right to manufacture a scapegoat to make the family feel better about an outcome no one could control.”
“Mr. Cross.” Dr. Rice held out a hand as if to halt conversation. “No one is suggesting—”
“With respect, Dr. Rice,” Vincent cut in, “that’s exactly what’s being suggested.
” He paused, letting his eyes sweep the room.
“Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here. This case cleared your internal post mortem review.
Dr. Vaughn’s surgical notes are thorough and demonstrate adherence to protocol.
The ER documentation shows appropriate triage and escalation.
There is no basis for a claim of negligence, and everyone in this room knows it. ”
Vincent let the silence stretch out, long and uncomfortable. Then he leaned forward again, his hands flat on the walnut table.
“So, let’s just be clear,” he continued.
His wedding band glinted in the sunlight beaming through the windows.
“If Ridgeway Medical Center wants to continue this narrative, positioning Dr. Vaughn as responsible for an unavoidable death to appease a donor family, let’s go.
But you should know that Cross & Associates is prepared to file suit against this hospital for defamation, wrongful termination if Dr. Vaughn’s employment is affected in any way, and intentional infliction of emotional distress. ”
Gerald shifted in his seat. The leather squeaked. “That’s—”
“Well within Dr. Vaughn’s rights. And only the beginning.
” Vincent smiled, but it was all teeth. “Because when we file, the complaint will be public. We’ll make sure every surgeon in this hospital knows that Ridgeway will throw its staff under the bus when money is involved.
We’ll make sure every potential donor knows that your institutional priorities are driven by optics, not medicine.
I will make this the most expensive mistake you’ve ever made.
By the time we’re done, you’ll be writing checks with so many zeros, they might as well rename this place Vaughn Medical Center. ”
Vincent’s words practically echoed, bouncing off of the walls. I could only imagine how magnificent he would be in court. I pulled my lips in and bit the inside of my mouth to avoid smiling.
Rachel glared across the table. Her knuckles were white where she gripped her pen.
Dr. Rice was incandescently red, practically shaking in anger.