Chapter 9 - Nathan Remembered The Conversation Differently
David said Nathan did.
Nathan said David did.
No one shouted.
That made it worse.
The conversation had happened four months earlier.
No minutes.
No formal approval.
A ten-minute meeting after another meeting.
Nathan remembered saying:
“If these are duplicative, simplify.”
David remembered:
“Stop duplicating reviews.”
Those are not the same sentence.
Both men believed their version.
Margaret looked deeply tired.
“This is how institutions fail without anyone deciding to fail them.”
David's attorney asked for a break.
Margaret granted it.
I sat with Rebecca in the hallway.
She looked at me.
“Do you still want charge?”
The question surprised me.
“I don't know.”
“You've wanted it for two years.”
“I know.”
“Don't let one week make the decision.”
I smiled.
“You sound like my mother.”
“I've met your mother.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Christmas potluck.”
“Oh God.”
“She told me the chicken was dry.”
“That sounds right.”
Rebecca smiled.
Then became serious.
“You're good, Emily.”
I waited.
“You are also occasionally convinced that your good intention means the rule should move.”
That hurt.
“Brennan.”
“Brennan.”
“Margaret.”
“Margaret.”
I nodded.
Rebecca continued:
“If you become charge, people copy what you normalize.”
Carol's testimony echoed.
I’m telling you what I thought you wanted.
Leadership was not only instructions.
It was what people learned would please you.
I looked toward the boardroom.
“David made people safer.”
Rebecca nodded.
“He did.”
“And also made them afraid to escalate.”
“Yes.”
“Both.”
“Yes.”
I was getting tired of both.
Then Luke Brennan arrived.
Nobody had told me.
Margaret had invited him to speak.
He wore a suit that fit badly.
He recognized me immediately.
“Emily.”
“Hi.”
He looked embarrassed.
“Sorry.”
“For?”
“You know.”
The security incident.
I nodded.
“Thank you.”
He rubbed his hands.
“My dad's doing good.”
“That’s good.”
“Still complains about rehab food.”
“Also good.”
We almost smiled.
Then Luke said:
“I didn't know you got written up.”
“Who told you?”
“Nobody. Margaret said staff were affected by some of these incidents.”
I looked toward the boardroom.
“She's careful.”
“She scared me on the phone.”
“That too.”
He sat beside me.
After a minute:
“I was an asshole that night.”
I didn't answer.
“I was.”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
I shrugged.
“You said it.”
“I grabbed that security guy.”
“Yes.”
“I shouldn't have.”
“No.”
“My dad still deserved an answer.”
“Yes.”
He looked relieved.
Maybe because he expected only one side to survive.
Then:
“Do you know what my complaint was actually about?”
“Communication.”
“Partly.”
He looked down.
“My dad was terrified.”
I knew.
“He thought rehab meant nursing home.”
I remembered that too.
“Nobody explained the difference until the transport crew came.”
“That shouldn't have happened.”
Luke nodded.
“I yelled because I'd been asking all day.”
Then he added:
“Afterward, David called me.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Two days later.”
“You spoke to him?”
“Yeah.”
“What did he say?”
Luke smiled without humor.
“He was nice.”
That surprised me.
“He said he understood why I was angry.”
“Then?”
“He asked if I'd consider withdrawing the complaint because my father's care hadn't been harmed.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“What did you say?”
“I said the complaint wasn't about harm.”
Luke looked toward the boardroom door.
“He said, ‘Then what exactly do you want us to fix?’”
That sounded like David.
If no measurable injury occurred, what was the actionable item?
Luke's answer had been:
“The part where nobody tells families what's happening until they become a problem.”
David had apparently gone quiet.
Then he said he'd look into it.
Luke heard nothing after.
The complaint disappeared anyway.
I asked:
“Did David ask you to withdraw it again?”
“No.”
That mattered.
He hadn't erased Luke's complaint because Luke refused.
Maybe he believed the complaint no longer belonged in quality review.
Different.
Still wrong.
But not a cartoon.
Luke stood when Margaret called him in.
Before entering, he looked at me.
“You getting fired?”
“Possibly.”
He grimaced.
“Sorry.”
“Don't be.”
“I helped.”
“So did I.”
He stared.
I continued.
“I made a bad call taking you toward Patient Relations when you were already that angry.”
“You were helping.”
“Yes.”
“That can still be a bad call?”
“Apparently.”
He smiled faintly.
“Adults are annoying.”
Margaret had said almost the same thing.
Then Luke entered the boardroom.
Ten minutes later, David walked out.
Alone.
He looked at me.
His expression had changed.
Not defeated.
Not angry.
Something worse.
He said:
“They're placing me on administrative leave.”
I stood.
“Pending review?”
“Yes.”
“I'm sorry.”
He laughed.
“Are you?”
I thought.
“Yes.”
That answer made him angrier than if I'd celebrated.
Then he said:
“You know what happens next?”
“What?”
“They'll pretend removing me fixed it.”
He walked toward the elevators.
May you like
I watched him go.
And for the first time, I was afraid he might be right.
Related Stories
