Chapter 78 Audit Notice

The audit notice arrived printed on St. Orla letterhead, as if expensive paper could make an apology without using the word.

Maris had sent the email version first. Then, 47 minutes later, a courier brought the physical copy to the legal clinic office instead of safe housing because no one with a crest, a donor badge, or a family office letterhead was getting a fresh address from me.

Bennett delivered the scanned copy through counsel. Isolde printed it on the cheap gray printer in the safe-room hall because she said S Orla paper deserved to be humbled before it came near Noa. Now it sat on the square table beside my discharge sheet from Westport Children’s Receiving, Noa’s feeding log, 2 clean diapers, a half-eaten sandwich, and the donor map that had already turned several namesinto a pattern no one could call nerves anymore.

Noa slept in the bassinet – not hot, not cool enough to stop me checking every 20 minutes. Just asleep. Every ordinary breath still felt like number I had to earn.

I stood over the letter because sitting hurt and standing hurt differently. My body had become a room with no comfortable chair.

Maris read the first paragraph aloud even though I had already read it twice. “St. Orla Women’s Center has commenced an internal audit concerning records governance, family continuity review procedures, donor-relations communications, and authorized access workflows associated with the file of infant Noa Ashby p>

“Infant Noa Ashby,” Isolde said.

I touched the edge of the page. There it was not Baby, not Armitage, not unborn child. Infant Noa Ashby. My daughter’s name had survived their first sentence. I hated how much that mattered.

I wrote the phrase on the feeding log margin before I could talk myself out of it. Infant Noa Ashby. The pen mark looked small beside the diaper counts and times-11:36 discharge, 12:05 wet, 1:30 feed, 2:18 temperature 99.1. It belonged there anyway. Her name was not separate from her care. It was part of it. A baby could not be protected in a record that treated her mother as an optional field.

Noa shifted in the bassinet. I set the pen down and waited for her to settle. When she did, 1 read the words again, quieter. Infant Noa Ashby.

Maris continued. “This audit is voluntary and does not constitute an admission of error, liability, improper access, improper record creation, or inaccurate designation p>

“There it is,” Isolde said. “They blinked with both hands behind their back p>

“Can they do that?” I asked.

“Yes,” Maris said. “Everyone can review themselves while insisting they have nothing to review. The question is who watches the review p>

“Us p>

“Us, the court if we can tie it to production, and possibly an external regulator if the audit produces enough smoke p>

The word smoke made me look at Noa. She did not move. I watched until her blanket rose. Then I turned back to the page.

“Read the scope p>

Maris did. Records governance. Administrative consistency review. Family continuity planning. Donor-relations contact logs. Authorized access workflows. External legal-notice intake. Private-clinic coordination references. Board-review escalation.

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< Chapter 78

Every phrase was a door I had been dragged past once without knowing the hallway had my name on it.

“They included the private clinic,” I said.

“References,” Maris corrected. “Not the clinic itself. St. Orla will not volunteer jurisdiction over another entity if it can avoid it”

“But they know the January 12 page exists p>

“They know we know p>

Isolde leaned against the counter with her arms crossed. “Which means their audit is partly about finding the leak they created p>

“Possibly p>

“Not possibly p>

Maris’s voice stayed dry. “I bill extra for certainty without discovery p>

I almost smiled. Then Noa made a thin waking sound, and every adult stopped.

She stretched both arms inside the blanket, face wrinkling, mouth opening in protest at the entire concept of air. I lifted her before the protest became a cry. Her cheek against my wrist felt normal- and normal had become a number I did not trust unless a thermometer blessed it.

“She needs to feed,” I said.

“Then we pause,” Bennett said from the doorway.

He had been there with another folder under 1 arm, waiting for the letter to become mine before entering. Public choosing had put his name beside mine online that morning. In this room, he still stopped at the threshold.

The contrast nearly undid me. Outside, Bellamy had chosen a side loudly enough for Dario to aim contracts at him. Inside, Bennett waited for a woman in a stained cardigan to decide whether he could cross a scuffed floor.

“You can come in,” I said.

He did. He placed the folder on the table without looking at the open side of my nursing tank as I settled Noa – not embarrassment made into performance. Just privacy, offered so quietly it did not ask to be thanked.

“What is that?” Isolde asked.

“The limited staff memo Maris approved,” Bennett said. “Redacted. Aveline sees it before anyone at Bellamy p>

I looked up. “You have not sent it p>

“No p>

“Even with the contract notices p>

“Especially with the contract notices p>

not a dramatic turning away,

Noa latched, and pain made me close my eyes for 2 breaths. When I opened them, Bennett was looking at the St. Orla notice, not me.

“Dario is targeting your contracts,” I said.

“Yes p>

“Because of me p>

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< Chapter 78

His gaze came to mine. “Because he wants every person near you to calculate whether you are worth the damage

That was a sharper answer than I expected from him—not unkind, angry under control.

“And?” I asked.

“And he is going to dislike the math p>

Isolde looked down at her laptop, pretending very badly to give us privacy.

Bennett did not step closer. He did not take my hand. He did not say anything that would make Noa’s hungry little sounds part of a vow. He only turned the memo folder so the tab faced me.

“When you have fed her,” he said. “Not before p>

It was almost nothing. It was exactly the difference.

Maris’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. “Tamsin is calling p>

My hand tightened around Noa’s back. The nurse from St. Orla – donor-event intake, records overflow. The woman who had met us under no-phones conditions and told us instability language had been drafted before my statement or clinical assessment.

“Put her on speaker,” I said.

Maris answered with counsel language first. Identification, consent, recording status, no removed documents, no patient details unrelated to my matter. Tamsin agreed to all of it in a voice that sounded like she was speaking from a stairwell.

“I saw the audit notice,” Tamsin said. There was a hollow echo around her. Hospital stairs, maybe. Concrete and metal rail.

“How?” Maris asked.

“Internal memo. Records governance review. They are telling staff not to discuss historical workflows outside audit channels p>

“Are you calling as a witness or as staff seeking counsel p>

A pause. “As a witness, if Ms. Ashby still wants to hear me p>

Noa swallowed. I looked down at her. Her fist rested against my breast, opening and closing as if she were counting something only she understood.

“I want to hear you,” I said.

“I need to meet,” Tamsin said quickly. “Not tonight if the baby needs you. Not in your housing. Somewhere counsel chooses. I will not bring documents, but I can identify what I saw and where the audit language is avoiding the real sequence p>

Maris’s eyes met mine. “Tomorrow, if Noa stays stable,” I said. “Counsel sets the place p>

“Thank you p>

The gratitude in her voice unsettled me. Witnesses should not have to thank the people harmed for making room for the truth. But fear rearranged manners – I knew that better than most.

“Are you safe to keep talking?” Bennett asked.

Not are you telling the truth. Not can you prove it. Safe. The word changed Tamsin’s breathing on the line.

“For a few minutes,” she said. “Then I have to go back on the floor p>

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“Then only sequence,” Maris said. “No speculation. No names unless you saw them attached to the workflow

That was what the night kept teaching me- truth survived better when it was fed in order. So did babies, I thought, minute by minute

Tamsin breathed out. “The forms were loaded before you arrived p>

The room went so still I could hear the old heater click behind the wall.

Maris leaned forward. “Which forms p>

“The family continuity packet framework. The intended-parent fields. The maternal coordination defaults. Not completed, but loaded. They were not created because of what happened in the donor corridor. The corridor gave them a story to attach p>

Milk stung. Noa kept feeding. My body did not know how to hold rage without spilling it into the child in my arms. So I made it precise.

“Before I arrived at St. Orla that day?” I asked.

“Before your ultrasound appointment was checked in p>

Isolde whispered something under her breath that was probably a curse and definitely a prayer.

Maris’s voice stayed level. “Can you testify to that from personal observation p>

“I can testify that the packet shell was visible in the records overflow queue before the donor event. I saw the timestamp. I did not understand what it meant until later p>

“Did you preserve anything p>

“No. I did not remove records p>

“Good,” Maris said. “Do not start now p>

Tamsin’s laugh was small and frightened. “I know p>

“Who loaded the forms p>

Another pause. Not empty – afraid.

Bennett moved away from the door and closed it halfway, not shut, just enough to muffle the hall. He looked at me first. I nodded.

“Tamsin,” Maris said, “answer only what you know directly p>

“The queue label used donor-office routing,” Tamsin said. “But the staff note said the request came through family liaison support p>

“Was family liaison a St. Orla unit?” Maris asked.

“Not exactly. It was a donor-facing support channel that handled board families, foundation calls, and special scheduling. It could touch records only through requests, not direct clinical edits. That is why I noticed it. It did not belong in a maternal packet before check-in p>

“Did anyone challenge it p>

“A clerk asked if the patient had consented p>

My hand stilled. “What happened p>

“She was told the family office was coordinating ahead of arrival and consent would be regularized at intake p>

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Regularized. There were words so clean they made violence easier to mop.

I looked at Noa’s sleeping face and made myself breathe through the next question. “Name p>

“Not Mathias Vey directly p>

My heart gave 1 hard beat. Noa unlatched and complained. I shifted her carefully, every movement too slow and too large.

“Then who?” I asked.

Tamsin’s voice dropped. “Nolan Greer. Mathias Vey’s aide p>

Across the table, Isolde’s cursor blinked in the donor map’s newest empty cell. Then she typed the name.

– End of chapter →

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Tai Jun

Tai Jun is a dreamer and storyteller who believes the sky is never the limit. He spends most of his time with his friend Lian, chasing new horizons and crafting tales that soar beyond boundaries.