"Jax," Sterling sighs, using the diminutive. It sounds condescending. "Don't make this a crusade. We have to be realistic. Palliative care is the humane option here."
"Humane?" Jax steps forward. He looms over Sterling. "You’re signing his death warrant because he doesn't have a credit card. It’s not triage, Sterling. It’s murder by spreadsheet."
"Dr. O'Connell, watch your tone," Sterling snaps. "You are already on thin ice after that stunt in the Trauma Bay the other day. Do not push me."
"Or what?" Jax shouts. Heads turn at the nurses' station. "You’ll fire me? Go ahead! I’d rather flip burgers than work for a suit who decides who lives and dies based on a quarterly budget!"
Jax is losing control. I can see it happening. His breathing is ragged. He isn't seeing Sterling anymore; he’s seeing something else. Some ghost from the desert. Some moment where he didn't have the supplies to save a friend.
Sterling’s eyes narrow. "Go home, Dr. O'Connell. You’re suspended for the shift. If you’re not out of this building in ten minutes, I’m calling security."
Jax looks like he’s about to swing. If he punches the Chief of Surgery, his career is over. He will lose his license. He will lose everything.
I cannot let that happen.
"Dr. Sterling," I say.
My voice cuts through the tension like a scalpel blade. Cold. Precise.
Both men look at me.
"Dr. O'Connell is passionate," I say calmly, stepping between them. "But his assessment of the patient’s cardiac viability is incomplete."
"Maxwell, the guidelines—" Sterling starts.
"The guidelines," I interrupt, "allow for exceptions in cases of high research value."
Sterling pauses. "Research?"
"I am currently drafting a grant proposal for the new robotic-assisted valve repair study," I lie. I haven't even started the abstract. "I need a candidate with complex pathology to demonstrate the dexterity of the new arm. Mr. Henderson’s previous scar tissue makes him a... unique anatomical challenge. Perfect for the trial."
Sterling looks at me. He knows I’m lying. But he also knows that my research brings in millions of dollars in grants to this hospital. He knows that "The York Method" is a brand he cannot afford to lose.
"The study creates a funding loophole," I continue, adjusting my glasses. "The grant covers the OR time. The company covers the device. The hospital pays nothing."
It’s a bluff. I will have to pay for it out of my own departmental slush fund. It will cost me a fortune.
Sterling weighs the options. Money vs. Ego. Money always wins.
"Fine," Sterling says tightly. "But he’s your responsibility, Maxwell. If he dies on the table, it’s your stats that take the hit."
"He won't die," I say.
Sterling turns to Jax. "You’re lucky he’s cleaning up your mess, O'Connell. Get out of my face."
Sterling walks away.
Silence descends on the hallway.
Jax is staring at me. He looks stunned. The rage is draining out of him, leaving him looking hollowed out and trembling.
"You lied," Jax whispers.
"I improvised," I correct him. "I will book the OR for tonight. You will assist."
"Max," he says. His voice breaks. "Why?"
I look at him. I see the soldier who is tired of fighting a war he can't win. I see the man who I covered with a sweater because he was cold.
