Chapter 7 - The Clinic's Offer
Dr. Pruitt's office was on the fourth floor of the Bayview building — glass walls, a view of the parking garage, and a desk far too big for the room.
He stood when Loretta and I walked in. He was younger than his phone voice had suggested — mid-fifties, a careful gray tie, the gray face of a man who'd spent two days locked in a room with attorneys.
Two other people were waiting. A woman he introduced as the clinic's legal counsel, and a man he called their "patient liaison director," whose entire job, as far as I could tell, was to sit there looking sorry.
"Mrs. Whitfield," Dr. Pruitt said. "Thank you for coming. I'd like to start by telling you how deeply sorry—"
"Dr. Pruitt," Loretta said, warm as a summer porch, "my client came to hear your proposal. She didn't come for an apology. Let's not waste her hour."
He sat.
The clinic's lawyer, a woman named Ms. Vance, opened a leather portfolio. "Bayview is prepared to formally acknowledge the storage transfer error and accept full institutional responsibility. We will cover all legal costs Mrs. Whitfield incurs in any proceeding connected to this matter, up to a set ceiling."
"What ceiling?" Loretta asked.
Ms. Vance said a number. Loretta wrote it down without moving a muscle in her face.
"We're also prepared," Ms. Vance went on, "to give any court that asks a complete written account of the error, confirming that Mrs. Whitfield is entirely without fault and that the mistake happened wholly within our facility's procedures."
"That's useful," Loretta said. "And in exchange?"
Ms. Vance glanced at Dr. Pruitt. "We're asking that Mrs. Whitfield agree not to bring a separate negligence suit against the clinic beyond the covered costs."
I leaned forward. "You want me to sign away my right to sue you."
"We want to reach a resolution that—"
"You made a mistake that might cost me my daughter," I said. "And your solution is for me to promise not to hold you all the way accountable for it."
The patient liaison director opened his mouth.
"Don't," I said.
He closed it.
"My client will review the written proposal," Loretta said, standing. "You'll hear from us within the week."
"Mrs. Whitfield." Dr. Pruitt's voice caught me at the door. "For whatever it's worth — I pulled your file and read it myself. You've been a patient of this clinic, in one form or another, for more than forty years. What happened to you was a failure on our end. A bad one. I am genuinely sorry."
I turned around.
"Then answer me one thing," I said. "Did you call Rachel before you called me, or after?"
He hesitated. Just a flicker of it.
"Before," he said. "By roughly eighteen hours."
I held his eyes. "So she had eighteen hours to decide what she wanted out of my daughter before I even knew there was a question on the table," I said. "Keep that number in mind while you're pricing out your apology."
I walked out.
In the elevator, Loretta waited until the doors sealed shut.
"The cost coverage is real money," she said. "The liability cap, we push higher. But the written admission of fault is worth more than the check."
"Why?"
"Because if this lands in a custody hearing, a signed statement from the clinic saying the mistake was one hundred percent theirs and that you did nothing wrong is a document the judge will actually sit and read." She looked at me. "It doesn't win the case. But it takes one club out of the other lawyer's hands."
The elevator opened.
"She already has a lawyer," I said. It wasn't a question.
"Hired her this morning. Cynthia Marsh." Loretta held the door for me. "She's good."
We stepped out into the afternoon sun.
May you like
"How good?" I asked.
"Good enough that we stop wasting days," Loretta said.
