I checked my reflection before a revolving door allowed me into the lobby. Heat rose from old radiators, the floor worn but polished to a sheen. Above the reception desk, a poster invited donations to a women’s shelter—a teddy bear someone had positioned just below that clutched a hand-written thank-you note circled by a heart.
“How can I help you?” The receptionist’s smile was wider than anything I’d seen behind Devon’s information desks.
“Interview with Surgery,” I said. “Dr. Jesse Maddox.”
“Welcome, Dr. Maddox.” As if she genuinely intended to remember my name. Huh. “It’s on the third floor—elevators are straight ahead. Good luck!”
She probably said that to every candidate. Still, it was a nice gesture.
“Thank you,” I said, and she waved me off with another beaming smile. All right, I kind of liked this place already.
In the elevator, I checked my phone and found a quick note from Finn.You’ve GOT this, it said, exactly what he’d told me this morning before he’d scrambled out for his shift—that, and how they’d be crazy not to hire me on the spot. Well, fingers crossed. I’d applied to other hospitals, too, because I wasn’t about to bet it all on a single spin, but they were farther away.
Deep breath.
I’ve got this.
Upstairs, a woman with short silver hair was already waiting for me, hand out. “Dr. Maddox? I’m Karen Johnson, head of OR nursing. Come on back.”
She had a no-nonsense air about her that felt genuine rather than performative, like if her car broke down, she’d know exactly what to do. We shook hands, then turned down a short corridor, past a TV on mute that cycled through local weather.Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not at Devon anymore.
The conference room was big enough for a table that seated eight, heavy wood rather than stainless steel and glass, a jug of water sweating onto a paper napkin, and a dry-erase map of the OR schedule with fewer lines than I was used to, listing aggressively standard procedures. For a half second, my ego raised its head and scented the air. Then I remembered why I was here, and it scuttled back into the shadows.
Three people rose and introduced themselves. A compact man with a calm face—Dr. Kent, Chief of Surgery. A woman with neat glasses—Dr. Rhee, anesthesia. HR perched at the corner with a legal pad and a poised pen as if to remind me that anything I said could and would be used against me. I shook hands all around and hoped I hit the perfect midway point between dead fish and vise.
“Thanks for coming up.” Kent indicated a chair that looked retro enough to be cool again. When I sat, it was surprisingly comfortable.
“Thanks for having me,” I said.
“Well, you do come highly recommended.” Kent moved on before I could comment. “We’ll keep this straightforward—we can talk, then Karen will give you a brief tour. Let’s keep it honest, no hard sell.”
“Shame,” I said. “I do love a branded stress ball.”
Damn—there went my mouth again. Nerves. I kept smiling as Kent quirked a brow and Rhee’s mouth tipped. HR actually wrote something down, which—well. No use wondering.
“So.” Kent leaned back. “Your CV is certainly impressive. Walk us through it, please.”
I did, trying to keep it clean and professional, nothing that would come across as bragging to people who I suspected liked things simple. Any sign of entitlement or excessive confidence might tank my chances here. Educated at Stanford, then a general surgery residency at Devon, currently completing mypediatric surgery fellowship there. I didn’t mention the eighty-hour weeks, or the way I’d once cried on a rooftop when a baby came off bypass and didn’t wake up. I also didn’t mention falling in love with an intern and kissing him where anyone could see because I’d forgotten that New York is a village.
“You were in the OR for the Jackson twins’ separation?” Rhee asked.
I’d expected the question. There’d been some media attention afterwards, the parents taking to the press to express their joy and gratitude—good publicity for Devon in general and Dr. Novak in particular. And me, by extension.
“I assisted on Dr. Novak’s side, yes.”Keep it modest.“It’s been incredibly educational. We prepared extensively—simulations, clamp times, everything. She had a plan, and the rest of us followed it to the very last detail.”
“I read the case report summary.” Rhee’s expression veered from panel formality into genuine fascination. “Did the anesthesia teams really manage to keep both sets of vitals stable through the liver division? I’ve been trying to picture the setup in real time.”
“Everything came in twos—two full teams, mirrored equipment. Monitors, ventilators, arterial lines… It was”—probably the most intricate case I’ll ever put my hands on—“quite the experience. A little like trying to land two planes side by side on the same runway, without letting either so much as wobble.”
Kent cleared his throat. “I assume you know we don’t get cases like that here, Dr. Maddox.”
Treacherous ground. I nodded and kept it simple. “I’m aware, yes.”
“So why Ashwick?” he asked. Right to the point—frank but fair. I liked it. Now I just needed to deliver the answer I’d practiced, the one I believed.
“Devon Memorial is a cathedral.” I let it sit for a half second. “Everything is big and historical, miracles are par for the course. A year ago, I might have told you that I wanted that. A flagship program—proof that I could stand at the edge and not blink.”
Kent considered me. “So what changed?”
