You Killed Her To Keep The House

Staring at the official declaration of my mothers death, my first thought was that the hospital had called the wrong number.
I had settled all the bills before leaving. Every single one.
Today was supposed to be the day for the cremation, the burial. Why would I still owe them money?
The voice on the other end of the line sighed, a thin, impatient sound. Family member needs to come pay the balance. How else are we supposed to cover the treatment? 0-08,736.
Are you sure this is for Evelyn Flynn?
They confirmed it with aggressive certainty. Yes, ma'am. Hurry up.
I froze. Maam?
My jaw set, I immediately drove back to the hospital. When the clerk handed me the bill, I glanced at the date. It was for new medication and treatment, all opened today.
Three days ago, my mother had died in this hospital after a failed resuscitation effort. Who were these imported drugs and procedures being administered to now?
1
A cold sense of alarm washed over me. Using "insurance reimbursement" as a pretense, I had the clerk print every single chart, every test result, every single line item.
I checked the records. My mother, in for half a month with what was initially diagnosed as pre-infarction symptoms, had racked up an unimaginable $450,000 in charges.
They had performed ten-plus cardiac catheterizations.
The list showed over thirty cardiac stents installed. Thirty?
And five separate CT scans in a single twenty-four-hour period.
My face went rigid. I walked straight to my mother's primary attending physician, Dr. Wallace.
Doctor, my mother died here three days ago. How can you justify a new bill, dated today?
Dr. Wallace blinked, but quickly composed himself. It does happen. Occasionally, we find a balance that was under-charged upon discharge. We simply ask the family to remit.
This hospital has never had a problem with overcharging, rest assured.
I pointed to the dates on the new bill. These are clearly newly prescribed medications. My mother is gone. Who were they given to?
He pointed at the framed commendations on his wall, a flicker of genuine angeror perhaps just paniccrossing his features. I understand your grief, but you are insulting me! Ive been practicing for thirty years, and Ive never been accused of something so foul.
Please leave!
I tried to argue, but he grabbed my arm and shoved me out of the consultation room.
If you have questions, take them to the Directors office! Ill cooperate with any investigation. This is preposterous!
I fought to keep my voice even, trying to appeal to his professional responsibility. But there is clearly a problem with the patients record. Shouldnt you, as the doctor in charge, be accountable?
Before I could finish, a few nurses began pushing me further away.
Theres no problem here! Dont try to start a scene! Our security is not to be messed with! one warned.
Are you trying to hurt other patients? Just because your own mother passed away, you want to stop other people from getting treatment?
At this, the other patients waiting in the hall grew agitated and started to shove me themselves.
My composure was shattered. You wont give me an explanation? Fine. Im calling the police.
The second the words left my mouth, a familiar, smooth voice cut through the noise behind me.
Calling the police? Asher Flynn, what is all this noise about? This is a hospital.
I turned. Jude Becker, my brothers keeper, a doctor at this very hospital, was pushing his way through the crowd, frowning.
I took a deep, centering breath and thrust the new bill at him. Jude, your hospitals billing is ridiculous. I want an explanation.
But instead of taking the bill, he raised his voice, loud enough for the waiting crowd to hear.
Thats impossible.
Asher, your mother was known to be tight with money when she was alive. I see the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree. Youre just like her.
My brow furrowed. What are you talking about?
He adjusted the lapels of his pristine white coat, adopting the air of professional authority. I mean that money should be earned honestly. Asher, Im telling you this as a friend: your family is already wealthy. It doesnt look good to try and stiff the medical bills.
What?
I was dumbstruck. My rage boiled, threatening to blow the top off my skull.
Jude Becker, you are a professional. You need to take responsibility for your words. The bill is right here, plain as day. Are you accusing me of trying to game the system?
2
The phrase game the system brought every head in the waiting area snapping toward me.
I fixed Jude with a cold glare. We had known each other for over twenty years. My mother had practically considered him a godson. It was on his insistent recommendation that we chose this hospital for her stay.
Yet, three days ago, when she died, Jude hadn't even shown his face. And now, he was saying this. It was a profound, sickening moment of disillusionment.
Jude gave me a look of deep, patronizing concern, expertly diverting the attention and pinning the blame on me.
Asher, I know youve always been impulsive. When your mother was alive, she indulged you endlessly. But shes gone now. You have to grow up. You cant keep acting out!
I understand your grief, but you cant take your loss and pain out on a professional medical staff! Your mothers physician is one of our most highly respected, a man with thirty years of spotless reputation.
The moment he finished, the eyes of the crowd shifted, confirming I was the villain.
Unbelievable. His own friend, a doctor, is saying this? The patients family must be a nightmare.
The poor woman is gone. Go home and grieve! Youre clogging up the line. We fought for these appointments. Just because his mom died, he wants to deny us our right to treatment?
This is why doctor-patient relations are so strained. Its because of people like him!
Id never realized how deeply Judes calculations ran. He had expertly manipulated the narrative, painting me as an unhinged aggressor.
I slapped the stack of printed medical records into his chest.
You say Im acting out? Fine.
Then do me a favor. As a medical professional and my dearest friend, read these charts, in front of everyone, and explain them.
The slight rigidity in Judes expression was all I needed to confirm my suspicion. A real doctor, and a true friend, hearing of alleged fraud, would immediately seize the records to investigate. Why was his first reaction deflection?
His demeanor softened, suddenly all concern, and he tried to steer me toward his private office, clearly attempting to manage the situation away from prying eyes.
But I planted my feet and pushed him away.
Whatever you have to say, we should say it now. I want to know what condition my mother had that required five CT scans in one day. Why was she given eight bags of antibiotics in a single afternoon? And IV fluids totaling over two hundred pounds?
My mother was in the hospital for half a month with pre-infarction symptoms, and I paid over $450,000!
And the most outrageous part? Shes been dead for three days, and your hospital is still generating new fees!
If this hospital cant provide an immediate explanation, Im escalating this to the state health authority.
With that, I pulled out my phone and dialed the Bureau of Health and Safety.
Around me, the hostile patients gasped, their voices hushed.
Two hundred pounds in one day? Thats more than a person weighs. They would have pumped her full of water. Thats insane.
Wait, the woman is dead. How can there be a new bill?
My God. This isnt just over-billing. It sounds like they might have killed her.
3
The moment the call connected, Judes face went white. He lunged, trying to snatch the phone from my hand.
I held him in a tight glare. Jude, youre not the attending physician. Why are you reacting like this?
Or is this connected to you?
I distinctly saw the vein in Judes forehead twitch. His eyes darted away.
I tried to wrestle my phone back, but in the struggle, he slammed it onto the tile floor.
Thats enough! he yelled.
The screen splintered into a thousand shards. I raised an eyebrow, facing him.
Are you getting nervous?
His eyes were wide, furious. I am not nervous! Im sick of your disgusting, underhanded tactics!
He then pulled out his own phone and shoved a screenshot of a text thread directly into my face.
Asher Flynn, I tried to warn you. Since youre so determined to destroy yourself, I have no choice. As a doctor, I must maintain my professional integrity.
Looking at the alleged chat log, my heart hammered against my ribs.
The text thread on his screen read:
Me: Hey Jude, I spent so much money, and Mom still died. What a waste. Any way to get some of it back?
Jude: What are you thinking?
Jude: The hospital wont refund without a major incident. Your family is rich; why do you care so much? Besides, the doctors did everything they could.
Me: Hmph. That old bastard, Dr. Wallace, deliberately prescribed the most expensive drugs. Whatever. Get me the refund, and Ill buy you a bottle of expensive whiskey.
My temples throbbed violently. My fingers started to tremble.
I never said that! Who is that? Just because it has my profile picture doesnt mean its me!
I tried to explain, but this time, no one was listening.
Someone in the crowd shoved me hard. I almost believed you! You set this whole thing up just to blackmail the hospital for money!
You have no shame! Your mothers death was a tragedy, but what does that have to do with the doctor? Youre so disrespectful.
Honestly, maybe her dying was just karma for having a son like this!
I was outnumbered. I couldnt fight fifty voices at once. But through the angry throng, I watched Jude smirk, give me a small, silent wave, and mouth the word, Bye.
Then, he casually shredded the medical print-outs and tossed the confetti into the air before walking back into his office, hands in his pockets.
A wave of vertigo washed over me. Heart racing, hands shaking, cold sweat prickling my skin.
The floor beneath me suddenly felt like cotton.
Pushed and jostled, I was forced out of the clinic wing. I stumbled, unable to regain my footing, and finally collapsed onto my knees a few feet from the main entrance.
I hadn't slept more than a few hours a night while caring for my mother for the last two weeks; my body was already at its breaking point.
People walked by continuously. I instinctively reached out a hand, trying to find someone to help, but through the swirling fog of my fading consciousness, I heard a shout nearby.
Dont help him! Hes trying to scam the hospital!
Be careful! Hes a grifter! Youll lose everything if you touch him!
My vision swam, the light scattering into fragments. I couldnt fight the pull of the ground. As my eyes slid shut, the last thing I saw was the relentless stream of people walking right past me.

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