Story code: ST-001255
Part 2: The Paper Trail
“I don’t care about your rules,” Amanda said, though her voice lacked its initial urgency. She slowly lifted her hand from the receiver, taking a step back toward the center of the lobby. “We don’t need the waiver. We’ll just go.”
Sarah stayed where she was, her eyes fixed on Amanda. “Which hospital did you say she was at, Amanda? You said Northwestern, but they don’t do the cardiac intake there for her cardiologist.”
“They took her to the nearest one, obviously,” Amanda said, her foot tapping rapidly against the polished concrete. She checked her phone screen, then stuffed it into her trench coat pocket. “Actually, maybe it was St. Joseph’s. I don’t know, Clara was screaming on the phone. The point is we need to go.”
“If it was St. Joseph’s, I can call their primary desk,” I said, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. “It takes ten seconds to verify a patient admission. If you’re unsure, I can check both.”
“No!” Amanda raised her voice, drawing the attention of two security guards near the turnstiles. “Do not call anyone. I am telling you, as her family, that she is withdrawing. Why are you making this so difficult?”
“Because standard procedure protects the candidate from false withdrawals,” I said. “And without verification, the system will lock her out.”
Sarah looked at Amanda’s face, then down at her own scattered resumes on the floor. She did not bend down to pick them up. “You told me Clara called you twenty minutes ago,” Sarah said, her voice dropping to a quiet, controlled register. “But Clara is on a flight to Denver today. She messaged me from the runway before takeoff.”
Amanda’s face tightened. “She must have called me before she boarded, Sarah. Why are you cross-examining me when your mother is sick?”
Before Amanda could pull Sarah toward the door again, my terminal chimed with the high-priority alert sound reserved for HR background screenings. I glanced down at my screen.
A new email had just arrived in the recruitment queue for the senior coordinator position. It was flagged as an urgent reference update regarding Sarah’s candidacy.
The sender’s name was listed as “Anonymous Former Colleague,” and the subject line read: WARNING: Candidate Sarah – Professional Misconduct and Theft.
I clicked the email open. The text was a scathing, detailed accusation alleging that Sarah had stolen proprietary client lists from her previous employer, accompanied by a warning that Meridian Tech would face legal action if they hired her.
I looked at the digital header of the email. The timestamp showed it had been received exactly four minutes ago-just moments before Amanda had burst through our lobby doors.
“What is that?” Sarah asked, noticing my gaze linger on the screen.
I looked up, my eyes moving from the monitor to Amanda, who was now clutching her phone inside her coat pocket, her gaze darting toward the security turnstiles.