Chapter 3: Paper Trails and Broken Trust

"Dr. Monroe, hey, this has nothing to do with me. I’m just a nobody—whatever the higher-ups tell me to do, I do." Ben was all smiles, trying to curry favor. "Please don’t kick me out—I worked so hard to get into this department."

He hovered by my desk, wringing his hands. His smile was desperate, the kind that never quite reaches the eyes. He looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"You’re not cut out for cardiothoracic. I’ll put in the transfer to the ER this afternoon."

I kept my tone even, but inside I was seething. Ben’s antics were the last thing I needed today.

"What!" Ben practically collapsed, dropping to his knees. "Please, Dr. Monroe, let me stay! If I go to the ER, I’ll burn out in three days. I’m your number one fan—how can you kick me out…"

He dropped to his knees, hands clasped in mock prayer. It would’ve been funny if I weren’t so damn tired. His voice cracked with genuine panic.

"Didn’t you say you do whatever your boss tells you? Am I not your boss?"

I raised an eyebrow, letting the silence stretch. Ben’s face fell, his bravado crumbling.

Ben’s face crumpled. "I swear I’m innocent! I’ll come clean, I’ll tell you everything I know—just let me stay."

He leaned in and whispered, "You won’t believe it, but today’s whole thing was for Dr. Daniels’s PhD review."

His breath smelled faintly of coffee and mint. He looked over his shoulder, as if afraid someone might overhear. I waited, arms folded, not sure if I was more annoyed or intrigued.

I stared at Ben. He looked dead serious.

His eyes were wide, pleading. For once, he wasn’t joking. I felt a chill creep up my spine.

"Just go to the ER—enough. I don’t need people who just run their mouths."

I tried to sound dismissive, but his words stuck with me. The whole thing was too bizarre to believe.

Ben banged his head on the table and wailed, "I knew you wouldn’t believe me, but it’s true! If I’m lying, may I never get a date again."

He clutched at his hair, eyes squeezed shut, as if making a blood oath. I almost smiled, despite myself.

I really didn’t believe him.

I’d read Autumn Daniels’s resume. She’d gone to grad school for economics at NYU, been recruited to our hospital as "top talent" for residency training, and if all went well, could get a PhD in eight years. But it had only been two and a half—how could she possibly be up for a doctorate?

I remembered reading her file, the neat columns of academic achievements. The math didn’t add up. My own path had been a marathon, not a sprint. No one skipped the line—not at Maple Heights.

Countless homegrown med students in our hospital—including Ben, who’d graduated from Johns Hopkins—had to slog through at least eleven years to reach that level.

He should know better than to spout this kind of nonsense.

Ben’s pitiful smile made it seem like he wanted to say more but didn’t dare.

He twisted his hands together, glancing at the door. I could tell he was debating whether to risk saying more. The pressure was getting to him.

"If you’re lying, don’t even think about the ER—go home and find another job."

I let the threat hang in the air. Ben’s shoulders slumped, but he didn’t back down.

Ben looked miserable as he said, "I wouldn’t even lie to my dad, let alone you! It’s really for Dr. Daniels’s… Autumn’s PhD review. The hospital plans to put your surgery under her name, put your papers under her name, then get the media to hype her up as a brilliant, photogenic prodigy, all to bring glory to our hospital. The people taking photos today were from the local news. They say they’re swapping the hospital website banner to her face, too."

His voice dropped to a whisper. The words tumbled out in a rush, as if he’d been holding them in for days. My stomach turned. Was this really happening?

"How do you know this?"

I kept my tone flat, but my pulse quickened. Ben hesitated, chewing his lip.

"I… I… sigh, I’ll come clean, but you have to keep it secret. Sarah from the office is my girlfriend. She overheard it while bringing in coffee at a meeting. Please, don’t tell anyone—if word gets out, we’ll both lose our jobs."

He looked at me with wide, pleading eyes. I could see the fear there, raw and real. Office gossip had always been a currency in this place, but this was something else.

Ben kept begging, but I was in shock.

His words echoed in my head. I tried to piece it all together, but nothing made sense. The world tilted, just a little.

Having Autumn suddenly listed as lead surgeon didn’t surprise me—our hospital’s electronic system was always buggy. Photos in the OR weren’t rare either; I’d posed for plenty during inspections and PR events. But the way Autumn spoke before leaving, combined with Ben’s explanation, made everything click.

I replayed the morning in my mind. Autumn’s confidence, the administrator’s evasiveness, the staged photos. It all fit—too perfectly. My hands felt cold, despite the stuffy office air.

Even the vice administrator was polite to me, but a mere resident like her wouldn’t dare act so high and mighty unless she had powerful backing. An economics major, never touched a needle, never seen a scalpel, rotating through departments for less than two and a half years—now up for a doctorate? My faith in the profession was crumbling.

I felt something in me crack. I’d always believed in the process—the years, the sweat, the sacrifice. Now it seemed like none of it mattered. I felt older than ever.

"Eight years—how can she skip the process?" I muttered. It was a hard rule in our hospital; how did Autumn manage it?

I rubbed my temples, trying to make sense of it. The rules were carved in stone—until, apparently, they weren’t.

"Dr. Monroe, she doesn’t need eight years. She’s got three papers, and each one knocks two years off the residency. So two years is enough."

Ben’s words were matter-of-fact, as if this were common knowledge. My heart pounded. I felt a chill settle in my bones.

A bad feeling rose in my chest.

A cold sweat broke out along my spine. Something was very wrong here.

I opened my computer, logged onto the website, and searched for Autumn Daniels’s name.

My fingers trembled on the keyboard. I held my breath, waiting for the search results to load. The hospital’s internet crawled, as if sensing my dread.

Sure enough, she had three papers in the cardiothoracic field. All of them were papers I’d published years ago, but all three now listed Autumn Daniels as the lead author, ahead of me.

My jaw dropped. The titles were familiar—too familiar. My name was still there, but second place, a footnote to my own work. I felt a sick twist in my gut.

"Dr. Monroe, I’m going back to work now—please keep this secret." Ben dashed out of the office.

He slipped out before I could say a word, leaving me alone with the screen. The cursor blinked, taunting me. I stared at the list of publications, numb.

I slumped in my chair, mind reeling.

My thoughts raced, tumbling over each other. I tried to remember if I’d ever signed anything, given permission. Nothing came to mind. My hands shook as I scrolled through the citations.

These papers were published on the largest national academic portal, not some internal hospital bulletin. According to standard practice, published papers can’t just be deleted or revised online. And changing the author? Unheard of.

I racked my brain, searching for any precedent. There was none. This was academic fraud, plain and simple. I felt a surge of anger, sharp and hot.

Plus, I’d never received any notice.

No emails, no calls, nothing. They’d gone behind my back. My trust in the system—already shaky—crumbled a little more.

Once I calmed down, only one possibility made sense. Those three papers were from when I’d just joined the hospital and held a low rank, so the hospital had them published as departmental achievements under my name—benefiting me, the department, and the hospital. The only explanation was that the hospital had later revised the content, added Autumn Daniels as an author, and bumped her ahead of me.

I let out a bitter laugh. The game had always been rigged, but I’d never realized how blatant it could get. My name was just a tool, a means to an end.

Unbelievable. This was blatant academic fraud.

My hands clenched into fists. I wanted to storm down the hall and demand answers, but I knew it wouldn’t matter. The machine was already in motion.