"I've reviewed the filing," Webb continued, flipping through the documents."The timeline alone raises red flags—the complaint was submitted within forty-eight hours of Kevin Lang's arrest, by someone with documented ties to the Lang family's business interests."
"The hearing is still scheduled," I said. It wasn't a question.
"For now, yes. But I'll be filing a motion to postpone pending a full investigation into the complaint's origin. The Medical Board takes fraudulent filings seriously." He met my eyes. "This won't be quick, Dr. Rothwell. These things rarely are. But I want you to know that you have competent representation now. You're not facing this alone."
The words should have felt like relief. Instead, they felt like a trap closing—comfortable, padded with good intentions, but a trap nonetheless.
"I didn't ask for this."
"No." Webb's voice remained even. "But Mr. Rothwell anticipated you might need it. And he has resources the Langs don't expect."
Resources.My father's favorite weapon.
The word he used when he meantI own the solution and now you owe me.
"Dr. Park," I said, keeping my eyes on the desk. "Did you know about this?"
"I was informed this morning." Park's voice was neutral. "I agreed it was in your best interest."
Representation I hadn't asked for. Arranged by a father I hadn't spoken to in years. Another piece of my life was managed without my input.
But the alternative wasn’t better. The hospital's malpractice carrier would have assigned a panel attorney who met me twenty minutes before my deposition. Someone juggling forty other cases, focused strictly on the medical records, barely remembering my name.
My father was giving me someone who would actually pay attention. Someone who had the time and resources to build a real defense—not just check boxes.
Take what's useful and leave the rest.
"Fine," I said. "Thank you, Mr. Webb. Keep me informed."
Webb nodded, collected his briefcase, and stood. "I'll be in touch as things develop. We have a strong case, Dr. Rothwell. It's just going to take time to build it properly."
He left. Park and I sat in silence for a moment.
"Your father," Park said finally. "I take it the reunion wasn't entirely your idea."
"Nothing with my father is ever my idea."
Park almost smiled. Almost. "He seems to care about you."
"He cares about control. I just happen to be the thing he wants to control."
"Mm." Park stood and moved toward the door. Paused with his hand on the frame. "For what it's worth, Rothwell. Backup isn't weakness. Even when the backup is complicated."
He left before I could respond.
I sat in his empty office, the weight of my father's help pressing down on me, and tried to decide how much of it I could accept.
Brian was in the kitchen when I got back. Garlic and olive oil. Something sizzling. The apartment smelled like someone actually lived here. Watson sat on the counter, flagrant rule violation, watching the proceedings like a health inspector.
"Hey." Brian glanced over his shoulder, spatula in hand. "How was it?"
I dropped onto the couch, letting my bag slide to the floor. "Complicated."
He turned off the burner, wiped his hands on a dish towel, and came to sit beside me. Not too close. Just close enough.
"The meeting with your dad?"
"That. And everything else." I pulled my feet up, tucking them beneath me. "My father's firm is handling the medical license case. He sent one of his lawyers to the hospital today."
