Story code: ST-001095
Part 3: The Call to the Chief
The line rang three times before the speakerphone clicked, the sound echoing off the hard linoleum floor of the waiting room. Marcus did not move his hand back to his pocket; instead, his fingers remained hovering near the console, his knuckles rigid.
“Vance here,” the surgeon’s voice came through, clear and brisk over the small speaker.
“Dr. Vance, this is Jean at the East Wing intake desk,” I said, keeping my voice level. “I have Chloe and Marcus here in the waiting area. Marcus is stating that Toby’s recipient has hit a sudden medical crisis and that we need to release the blue donor bracelet immediately to bypass the standard queue for an emergency private transport. I need to verify the recipient’s status change on the master list.”
Marcus took a quick, shallow breath. He stepped closer to the counter, his chest nearly touching the edge of the wood. “Dr. Vance, this is Marcus. I was just explaining to Chloe that the clinic coordinator called me directly to avoid the front-desk bottleneck. They said the window is closing.”
Silence came from the speaker for two long seconds. We could hear the faint hum of a ventilation fan from the surgeon’s office.
“There is no private transport authorized for this match, Marcus,” Dr. Vance said. His tone was flat, stripped of any professional warmth. “The recipient in Chicago is currently stable and in the prep queue for midnight. Furthermore, any bypass of the national allocation protocol is a federal violation. Who exactly did you say called you?”
Marcus’s gaze shifted from the phone console to the double doors of the ICU, then back to my face. The skin around his mouth had turned a pale, chalky gray. “I… I might have gotten the name of the clinic coordinator wrong. It was a local number. They said they were representing the family friend.”
“The family friend is not the recipient,” Dr. Vance said. “The regional board made the allocation three days ago. If anyone is telling you to cut that bracelet off or bypass the coordinator’s desk, they are asking you to commit a felony. Jean, is the donor bracelet still secure?”
“It is in Chloe’s hand,” I said, looking down at Chloe.
She had not moved from her position. Her fingers were wrapped so tightly around the blue silicone band that the edges of the plastic were digging into her skin, leaving deep red indentations. She stared at Marcus, her lower jaw slightly slack, her eyes wide and fixed on his face.
“Good,” Dr. Vance said. “Marcus, I am calling hospital security down to the desk to document this call. We need the phone number of the person who contacted you. If there is an unauthorized party attempting to intercept donor tissue, the regional board requires a formal incident report within the hour. Do not leave the desk area.”
Marcus’s shoulders dropped. He pulled his hand back from the console, his fingers twitching against the seam of his trousers.