Under The Knife

She took one look at the letterhead and felt her stomach drop away: Uehara and Ransom, Attorneys at Law.

“One of the best firms in town,” explained Bettencourt. Seeing her stunned expression, he went on impatiently, “You and the hospital are being sued, Dr. Chesne. For malpractice. And David Ransom is personally taking on the case.”

Her throat had gone dry. Slowly she looked up. “But how—how can they—”

“All it takes is a lawyer. And a dead patient.”

“I’ve explained what happened!” She turned to Avery. “Remember last week—I told you—”

“Clarence has gone over it with me,” cut in Bettencourt. “That isn’t the issue we’re discussing here.”

“What is the issue?”

He seemed startled by her directness. He let out a sharp breath. “The issue is this: we have what looks like a million-dollar lawsuit on our hands. As your employer, we’re responsible for the damages. But it’s not just the money that concerns us.” He paused. “There’s our reputation.”

The tone of his voice struck her as ominous. She knew what was coming and found herself utterly voiceless. She could only sit there, her stomach roiling, her hands clenched in her lap, and wait for the blow to fall.

“This lawsuit reflects badly on the whole hospital,” he said. “If the case goes to trial, there’ll be publicity. People—patients—will read those newspapers and it’ll scare them.” He looked down at his desk. “I realize your record up till now has been acceptable—”

Her chin shot up. “Acceptable?” she repeated incredulously. She glanced at Avery. The chief of anesthesia knew her record. And it was flawless.

Avery squirmed in his chair, his watery blue eyes avoiding hers. “Well, actually,” he mumbled, “Dr. Chesne’s record has been—up till now, anyway—uh, more than acceptable. That is…”

For God’s sake, man! she wanted to scream. Stand up for me!

“There’ve never been any complaints,” Avery finished lamely.

“Nevertheless,” continued Bettencourt, “you’ve put us in a touchy situation, Dr. Chesne. That’s why we think it’d be best if your name was no longer associated with the hospital.”

There was a long silence, punctuated only by the sound of Dr. Avery’s nervous cough.

“We’re asking for your resignation,” stated Bettencourt.

So there it was. The blow. It washed over her like a giant wave, leaving her limp and exhausted. Quietly she asked, “And if I refuse to resign?”

“Believe me, Doctor, a resignation will look a lot better on your record than a—”

“Dismissal?”

He cocked his head. “We understand each other.”

“No.” She raised her head. Something about his eyes, their cold self-assurance, made her stiffen. She’d never liked Bettencourt. She liked him even less now. “You don’t understand me at all.”

“You’re a bright woman. You can see the options. In any event, we can’t let you back in the O.R.”

“It’s not right,” Avery objected.

“Excuse me?” Bettencourt frowned at the old man.

“You can’t just fire her. She’s a physician. There are channels you have to go through. Committees—”

“I’m well acquainted with the proper channels, Clarence! I was hoping Dr. Chesne would grasp the situation and act appropriately.” He looked at her. “It really is easier, you know. There’d be no blot on your record. Just a notation that you resigned. I can have a letter typed up within the hour. All it takes is your…” His voice trailed off as he saw the look in her eyes.

Kate seldom got angry. She usually managed to keep her emotions under tight control. So the fury she now felt churning to the surface was something new and unfamiliar and almost frightening. With deadly calm she said, “Save yourself the paper, Mr. Bettencourt.”

His jaw clicked shut. “If that’s your decision…” He glanced at Avery. “When is the next Quality Assurance meeting?”

“It’s—uh, next Tuesday, but—”

“Put the O’Brien case on the agenda. We’ll let Dr. Chesne present her record to committee.” He looked at Kate. “A judgment by your peers. I’d say that’s fair. Wouldn’t you?”

She managed to swallow her retort. If she said anything else, if she let fly what she really thought of George Bettencourt, she’d ruin her chances of ever again working at Mid Pac. Or anywhere else, for that matter. All he had to do was slap her with the label Troublemaker; it would blacken her record for the rest of her life.

They parted civilly. For a woman who’d just had her career ripped to shreds, she managed a grand performance. She gave Bettencourt a level look, a cool handshake. She kept her composure all the way out the door and on the long walk down the carpeted hall. But as she rode the elevator down, something inside her seemed to snap. By the time the doors slid open again, she was shaking violently. As she walked blindly through the noise and bustle of the lobby, the realization hit her full force.

Dear God, I’m being sued. Less than a year in practice and I’m being sued….

She’d always thought that lawsuits, like all life’s catastrophes, happened to other people. She’d never dreamed she’d be the one charged with incompetence. Incompetence.

Suddenly feeling sick, she swayed against the lobby telephones. As she struggled to calm her stomach, her gaze fell on the local directory, hanging by a chain from the shelf. If only they knew the facts, she thought. If I could explain to them…

It took only seconds to find the listing: Uehara and Ransom, Attorneys at Law. Their office was on Bishop Street.

She wrenched out the page. Then, driven by a new and desperate hope, she hurried out the door.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_4ad2e3ed-fbe2-5d6f-afc3-029a8884064b)

“MR. RANSOM IS unavailable.”

The gray-haired receptionist had eyes of pure cast iron and a face straight out of American Gothic. All she needed was the pitchfork. Crossing her arms, she silently dared the intruder to try—just try—to talk her way in.

“But I have to see him!” Kate insisted. “It’s about the case—”

“Of course it is,” the woman said dryly.

“I only want to explain to him—”

“I’ve just told you, Doctor. He’s in a meeting with the associates. He can’t see you.”

Kate’s impatience was simmering close to the danger point. She leaned forward on the woman’s desk and managed to say with polite fury, “Meetings don’t last forever.”

The receptionist smiled. “This one will.”

Kate smiled back. “Then so can I.”

“Doctor, you’re wasting your time! Mr. Ransom never meets with defendants. Now, if you need an escort to find your way out, I’ll be happy to—” She glanced around in annoyance as the telephone rang. Grabbing the receiver, she snapped, “Uehara and Ransom! Yes? Oh, yes, Mr. Matheson!” She pointedly turned her back on Kate. “Let’s see, I have those files right here…”

In frustration, Kate glanced around at the waiting room, noting the leather couch, the Ikebana of willow and proteus, the Murashige print hanging on the wall. All exquisitely tasteful and undoubtedly expensive. Obviously, Uehara and Ransom was doing a booming business. All off the blood and sweat of doctors, she thought in disgust.