Story code: ST-001364
Part 3: The Mismatch Flag
Uncle Richard’s shadow fell over me, blocky and smelling of expensive aftershave. He stood over my chair, his hand resting on his gold-buckled belt, his face set in a hard line. “Elena,” he said, his voice dropping to the gravelly register he used when he wanted to end an argument. “I don’t care what petty sibling rivalry you two are playing at. Your sister is trying to do something honorable for this family. Stop being difficult and give her the access she needs to proceed.”
Clara nodded rapidly, adjusting the stolen purple plastic band on her wrist. She kept her arm raised slightly, making sure the hospital branding was visible to Uncle Richard. “Exactly, Elena. It’s just a simple portal code. Don’t make Marcus suffer just because you want to be difficult.”
I kept my hands folded in my lap, feeling the cool weight of my phone against my palm. I looked at the floor, then up at them. “I’m not giving you my login, Clara. If you’re the donor, you should have no problem using your own account.”
“Nurse Davies is waiting,” Uncle Richard snapped, gesturing toward the desk where the coordinator stood, her stylus hovering over the tablet screen. “Clara, go type it in. Elena, if you delay Marcus’s surgery by one minute because of this behavior, you can forget about any support from me. I will cut you out of the family trust entirely.”
“I’m going, Uncle Richard,” Clara said quickly. She marched back to the counter, her high heels clicking sharply on the linoleum floor. Uncle Richard followed closely behind her, leaving me sitting by the vending machine. I stayed where I was, watching them.
Nurse Davies looked up as Clara approached the counter. “Do you have the code, Clara?”
“My phone is dead, but I can log in manually on your terminal,” Clara said, leaning over the desk. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the edge of the counter. “Just turn the keyboard toward me.”
“Very well,” Nurse Davies said, turning the secondary screen. “Enter your donor registration username and the eight-digit verification match code generated for today’s procedure. It was sent to your registered email and mobile device when the match was finalized.”
Clara hesitated, her fingers hovering over the keys. She typed a few characters, paused, stared at the screen, then hit the backspace key repeatedly. She typed another sequence.
“Is there a problem?” Nurse Davies asked, her voice professional and flat.
“I… I think I forgot the exact capitalization of my username,” Clara stammered. She cast a desperate, wide-eyed look back at me, her shoulders tensing.
“The system only allows three attempts before locking the donor file for twenty-four hours to prevent identity fraud,” Nurse Davies warned, adjusting her glasses. “If the file locks, we will lose our operating room slot, and we will have to cancel Marcus’s surgery for today.”
Uncle Richard stepped closer, his brow furrowed as he glared at the screen. “Clara, what is the issue? You spent weeks preparing for this. How do you not know your own login details?”
“It’s just… the hospital portal interface is confusing,” Clara lied, her voice rising in pitch as she typed a third sequence and hit enter.
A sharp, double-beep echoed from the terminal. A red banner flashed across the screen, visible even from where I sat.
Nurse Davies pulled the monitor back toward herself, her face clouding. “That was your third failed attempt. The system has flagged a security mismatch. The active donor registration session is currently locked to a biometric signature registered to an Elena Vance, not a Clara Vance. I need the actual registered owner of this account to present their identification immediately.”