Chapter 5: Unseen Obstacles

After my encounter with Marcus, a new urgency settled over me. I needed hard evidence, something concrete to counteract Robert’s professional assassination. My thoughts turned to my parents’ history with Reed Medical Center. Arthur had mentioned an old patient care agreement with Robert’s grandfather, the hospital founder. It was a long shot, but it was a lead.

I knew that the hospital maintained an obscure, rarely accessed archive of historical patient files and administrative documents in the sub-basement. It wasn’t digitized; it was a physical collection, largely forgotten. Access usually required multiple layers of authorization, but as a senior surgeon with decades of tenure, I had always been able to get in with a simple request.

I drove back to the hospital, parking my car in the visitor’s lot. I bypassed the main entrance, heading for a lesser-used staff entrance I knew from my early days as a resident. I slipped past a cleaning crew, my heart pounding with a mix of defiance and trepidation.

I made my way down to the sub-basement. The air grew cooler, heavier, carrying the faint, sterile scent of old paper and dust. The hallway leading to the archives was dimly lit, a single flickering fluorescent tube casting long, dancing shadows.

I approached the heavy, metal door marked “Historical Records & Archives.” It had always been secured by a simple key card lock, the same kind I still carried in my wallet, a relic from my active surgical days. I swiped it confidently.

Nothing. The small indicator light remained stubbornly red.

I tried again, swiping slower, then faster. Still nothing. My access had been revoked here too. The pettiness of it, the thoroughness of Robert’s blockade, made my blood run cold. They had thought of everything.

Frustration bubbling, I rattled the heavy handle. It was locked tight.

Just then, a voice echoed down the silent corridor. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

I turned to see a security guard emerging from a side office. He was a new face, unfamiliar, a burly man with a no-nonsense expression. He wore the standard Reed Medical Center security uniform, crisp and official.

“I need to access the archives,” I stated, trying to maintain an air of professional calm. “My card isn’t working.”

He walked closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took me in. He didn’t recognize me, or if he did, he showed no sign of it. That was another subtle jab from Robert’s campaign: being erased from the institution’s memory.

“Access to these archives is restricted,” he said, his voice flat. “Who are you and what is your business here?”

“I’m Dr. Evelyn Reed,” I replied, trying to project authority. “I’m a surgeon here. I need to retrieve some patient files.”

He looked at me for a long moment, then slowly shook his head. “I have no Dr. Evelyn Reed on the authorized access list for these archives. My orders are clear.”

“Your orders?” I pressed. “From whom?”

“Orders from above,” he stated, his voice firm and unwavering. “No one gets in here without direct clearance from VP of Operations or the CEO’s office.”

Charlotte and Robert. Of course. They had anticipated my move, sealing off every possible avenue of investigation within the hospital. This wasn’t just bad luck; it was targeted obstruction.

“I’ve worked here for twenty-five years,” I argued, my voice rising slightly. “I’ve had access to these archives for years.”

“Things change, ma’am,” he said, his expression unchanging. “My instructions are explicit. No unauthorized personnel, no exceptions. You’ll have to leave.”

He gestured vaguely back the way I came, his stance unyielding. He wasn’t aggressive, but his quiet authority left no room for negotiation. This new guard, a brick wall in a uniform, epitomized the hidden obstacles Robert was placing in my path. He was a nameless, faceless enforcer of their personal vendetta.

The casual dismissal of my long tenure, my years of dedicated service, was a fresh, personal wound. It was as if my entire professional life at Reed Medical Center had been wiped clean, my history, my contributions, all deemed irrelevant by “orders from above.”

“Are you saying I can’t even get my own family’s medical records?” I asked, a tremor in my voice.

“All patient record requests must go through official channels,” he recited, like a trained robot. “You can submit a formal request to the medical records department.”

I knew what that meant: a request that would be stalled, delayed, or outright denied by Charlotte or Robert. They had locked down every institutional mechanism.

I stood there for a moment, defeated, staring at the impassive face of the guard. The quiet hum of the building, the dim light, the oppressive silence of the sealed archives, all emphasized my powerlessness.

He stepped slightly forward, a subtle but firm suggestion that I should move along. His presence, large and unyielding, was a physical manifestation of the invisible walls Robert had erected around me.

I turned and walked back down the silent corridor, the heavy archive door now a symbol of all the information Robert was trying to keep hidden. Each step felt heavier than the last. He wasn’t just attacking my career; he was cutting off my access to the past, to the very history that might contain the key to his undoing.

The encounter solidified my understanding of the scale of their operation. This wasn’t just about my divorce; it was about protecting something far larger, far more illicit. Robert and Charlotte were moving with a concerted, chilling efficiency. They were sealing off every potential leak, every avenue of discovery, ensuring I would find nothing.

It was a stark realization. If I was going to uncover the truth, I couldn’t rely on my old institutional access. I would have to find entirely new, unconventional ways to pry open their secrets. The frustration was immense, but so was the grim determination.