One Second to Justice

After my daughter was seriously injured in a car accident and suffered heavy bleeding, she was rushed to the hospital for emergency treatment.

When it was time to sign the surgical consent form, the nurse suddenly snapped the medical file shut and pressed it down firmly.

"Hospital regulations state that only immediate family members can sign the surgical consent form. What proof do you have that you are the child's father?"

I was stunned. "She is my biological daughter. Do I still need to prove it to you?"

The nurse retorted, "Birth certificates can be forged. How do we know the child wasn't abducted by you? If you cannot prove it, we cannot proceed with the surgery."

Seeing the nurse's self-righteous expression, I trembled with anger.

"I am signing the surgical consent form for my own biological daughter. Do I need to provide DNA evidence as well?"

She curled her lip. "These are hospital regulations. We are being responsible for the patient. If you cannot prove the child is yours, we will report you to the police for child trafficking."

After saying that, she actually called security to report it and loudly accused me of being a human trafficker.

Report me to the police?

I took out my police uniform from my bag and put it on.

I'd show her what a split-second response was.

Just as my pen touched the surgery consent form, a hand pressed down on the paper.

"Hold on. Before the operation, we need to verify your identity as the guardian again."

I handed over my documents.

Alicia Grant walked to the computer and typed for a moment, then immediately frowned.

"The contact number registered in our system doesn't match the last four digits of the one you're using now."

"I changed my phone number last year," I explained. "But my other information hasn't changed. That should match."

An intern named Benjamin Winfrey quickly spoke up in my defense.

"Ms. Grant, we've already checked. The other information is correct."

Alicia shot him a sharp look and cut him off.

"Shush! You're just an intern. What do you know about protocol?"

She turned back to me, her tone edged with impatience.

"Rules are rules. Any discrepancy must be clarified. Last time, we overlooked a mismatch in the records, and when something went wrong, all the blame landed on our nursing department. Can you take responsibility for that?"

I swallowed my anger and kept my voice steady.

"My daughter was treated here for pneumonia three years ago. You can check her medical records. My information is in there."

Benjamin immediately pulled up the archived files, printed them out, and handed them to Alicia.

"Ms. Grant, here are the hospitalization records from three years ago. The guardian is Mr. Martin Lancer. The other information matches."

I thought that would settle it.

"Very well."

However, Alicia did not even glance at the papers. Instead, she took the printout, along with my documents, and tossed them into a filing cabinet.

With an audible click, the drawer was locked.

Benjamin froze. "What are you doing, Ms. Grant?"

Unhurried, Alicia slipped the key into her pocket.

"According to hospital regulations, any documents under suspicion must be opened and verified in the presence of both Security and the Administrative Office."

She looked at me, the corner of her mouth curling into a faint, mocking smile.

"Unfortunately, they've both left for the day. Mr. Lancer, you'll have to wait."

Around us, the other patients' families began whispering.

"What's going on? They won't let him sign?"

"I heard the identity doesn't match. Maybe it's the wrong person."

I stood there, feeling the blood drain from my body, inch by inch.

That so-called 'high-risk contingency plan' Alicia just cited was one I had personally proposed and refined for the Police Legal Affairs Department.

It was meant to prevent malicious medical disputes, not to be used like this.