I watched them in silence for a moment, knowing that in the past I would have stormed in screaming and crying. This time, I just put the car in reverse and drove straight to the bank.
Since they wanted to play games with a nurse, they were about to find out that I also knew how to perform triage. I had just decided who I was no longer going to save.
Meredith, the manager of the Chase branch in Scottsdale, opened the side door for me at 5:07 a.m. looking exhausted. Two years ago, I had saved her husband’s life in the ER by catching a heart issue the residents missed, and she had told me then she owed me a favor.
“You look like you’ve been through a war, Gretchen, so tell me what happened,” she said as she led me inside.
“My family happened, and this time I want our separation in writing,” I told her.
I showed her the audio recording, the fake medical claims, and the account number they wanted the money sent to. Meredith didn’t waste time on sympathy; she just pulled out the necessary forms and took me to a private meeting room.