Natalie spread the papers across her desk.
“Don’t access any patient records you’re not authorized to see,” she warned. “And don’t contact Celia directly anymore.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Preserve what you already have. Let us request the audit records through the proper channels.”
That was something I could do.
For years, I’d been the person who smoothed things over.
I apologized when doctors interrupted me.
I stayed late when supervisors forgot to schedule coverage.
I smiled when people pronounced my name incorrectly for the thousandth time.
But this time, I wasn’t apologizing for somebody else’s dishonesty.
Graham helped me organize my own documents.
He never touched hospital systems.
Instead, he created a spreadsheet listing every questionable date against my confirmed work schedule and travel history.
His payroll brain was finally getting an emergency worthy of its talents.
On Thanksgiving morning, while most people were preparing turkey, I sat at his kitchen table with a laptop.
