“Good,” I said.

The heavy oak door to the boardroom swung open.

The hospital CEO, Arthur Vance, stood at the head of the long mahogany table.

Beside him sat three other board members, their faces grim.

Uncle Michael sat in the corner, wearing a dark gray suit that looked pristine.

My brother Daniel sat next to him, his hands clasped tightly on the polished wood.

Daniel looked at me for a fraction of a second, then looked down at his yellow legal pad.

“Dr. Morgan,” CEO Vance said, gesturing to the empty chair at the foot of the table.

“Thank you for coming.”

“I prefer to stand,” I said.

I walked to the podium at the side of the room.

“We are here to review the suspension of your clinical privileges,” Vance said, adjusting his glasses.

“The board has received a formal complaint regarding your conduct outside the hospital.”

“Specifically, an incident of domestic violence where you allegedly assaulted your aunt, Patricia Morgan.”

Michael cleared his throat, leaning forward.

“As a representative of the family, and a donor to the new pediatric wing, I find this incredibly painful,” Michael said.