Chapter 2 - The Chief’s Demand
Dr. Richard Voss’s voice did not rise. In a trauma bay, raised voices meant panic; a quiet, flat command meant absolute authority. He stood over the nurses’ station terminal, his eyes locked on the digital medical record screen Maren had left open.
“Dr. Voss,” Maren said, maintaining her professional posture despite the sudden chill in the air, “as per hospital protocol, I am required to document spontaneous patient statements relevant to their clinical presentation and acute context.”
“Clinical presentation?” Richard stepped closer, his shadow falling across the keyboard. “My son is seventeen, concussed, terrified, and grieving the sudden death of his best friend. Whatever nonsense came out of his mouth while he was in shock has zero medical relevance. It is hearsay, it is speculative, and it is a massive HIPAA violation if leaked outside these walls.”
“It’s not a HIPAA violation to document subjective statements related to a trauma event in a legal medical record, Doctor. And the police are already conducting an active investigation into a fatality,” Maren replied evenly.
From inside the trauma bay, the door clicked open. Officer Miller stepped out, his hand resting near his duty belt. He had heard the tail end of the exchange.
“Doctor Voss,” Officer Miller said, his tone cautious but firm. “Are we talking about a statement regarding who was driving the vehicle?”
Richard turned slowly, his face a mask of controlled fury. “Officer Miller, my son has a fractured wrist and acute head trauma. He watched his best friend die forty minutes ago. Any statement he makes right now is chemically or emotionally compromised. As his father and a physician, I am formally requesting—and expecting—that this hospital corrects an erroneous, speculative entry in his chart before it prejudices an ongoing investigation.”
Tyler appeared in the doorway of the trauma room, wrapped in a foil thermal blanket, his face pale. “Dad… please.”
“Go back inside, Tyler,” Richard said, his voice softening just a fraction when addressing his son, before snapping back to cold steel as he looked at Maren. “Change the sentence. Erase the direct quote. Put down that the patient was disoriented and unable to recall the accident. That is the medical truth.”
Maren looked from the formidable surgeon to the broken teenager standing in the doorway. She thought of Jamie Nolan, a boy the same age who would never wake up again.
May you like
“I cannot alter an entry after it has been timestamped and signed, Dr. Voss,” Maren said clearly. “An addendum can be added if the patient wishes to clarify his statement under clinical evaluation, but the original note stays.”
Richard’s jaw tightened. He leaned in close to Maren, his voice a low hiss. “You have been at St. Catherine’s for three years, Nurse Doyle. Let’s see how much longer you last here when I speak to the board in the morning.”
