Arthur, seeing his opportunity to regain some control, grabbed Dr. Vance’s arm, pulling him urgently away from the gathering and into a quieter alcove near the main hallway. He spoke in a furious, hushed tone, clearly believing he could still salvage his reputation.
I watched them, a cold dread creeping into my stomach. He was going to try and discredit me professionally.
“Harrison,” Arthur hissed, his voice barely audible even from where I stood, “I apologize for this scene. Clara has always been… problematic.”
Dr. Vance’s face remained unreadable, but I could see the slight narrowing of his eyes.
“She lied on her application, Harrison,” Arthur continued, growing more agitated. “Her past financial bankruptcy, her divorce details… she glossed over everything. Made herself out to be a victim.”
He leaned in closer, whispering conspiratorically. “The truth is, she’s unstable. Mentally fragile. Prone to… delusions of grandeur. She’s not fit to lead a surgical trauma unit. Not after everything.”
My hands clenched at my sides. The gall. Not only had he stolen from me, but now he was actively attempting to ruin my career, my dream, with malicious lies.
Dr. Vance listened, his expression growing graver with each word Arthur uttered. He finally pulled away from Arthur’s grip, his gaze distant.
“Arthur,” Dr. Vance said, his voice stern and low, “Northwestern Memorial has extremely strict character and ethics guidelines for its department leadership. Especially for a position as critical as Assistant Chief of Trauma.”
He paused, then added, “Integrity is paramount.”
My heart sank. Arthur’s poison was spreading. Dr. Vance, a man I deeply respected, was now hearing these malicious fabrications directly from my own father. The weight of Arthur’s lies pressed down on me, threatening to crush everything I had worked for.
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