After my daughter was seriously injured in a car accident and suffered heavy bleeding, she was rushed to the hospital for emergency treatment.

When it was time to sign the surgical consent form, the nurse suddenly snapped the medical file shut and pressed it down firmly.

"Hospital regulations state that only immediate family members can sign the surgical consent form. What proof do you have that you are the child's father?"

I was stunned. "She is my biological daughter. Do I still need to prove it to you?"

The nurse retorted, "Birth certificates can be forged. How do we know the child wasn't abducted by you? If you cannot prove it, we cannot proceed with the surgery."

Seeing the nurse's self-righteous expression, I trembled with anger.

"I am signing the surgical consent form for my own biological daughter. Do I need to provide DNA evidence as well?"

She curled her lip. "These are hospital regulations. We are being responsible for the patient. If you cannot prove the child is yours, we will report you to the police for child trafficking."

After saying that, she actually called security to report it and loudly accused me of being a human trafficker.

Report me to the police?

I took out my police uniform from my bag and put it on.

I'd show her what a split-second response was.

Just as my pen touched the surgery consent form, a hand pressed down on the paper.

"Hold on. Before the operation, we need to verify your identity as the guardian again."

I handed over my documents.

Alicia Grant walked to the computer and typed for a moment, then immediately frowned.

"The contact number registered in our system doesn't match the last four digits of the one you're using now."

"I changed my phone number last year," I explained. "But my other information hasn't changed. That should match."

An intern named Benjamin Winfrey quickly spoke up in my defense.

"Ms. Grant, we've already checked. The other information is correct."

Alicia shot him a sharp look and cut him off.

"Shush! You're just an intern. What do you know about protocol?"

She turned back to me, her tone edged with impatience.

"Rules are rules. Any discrepancy must be clarified. Last time, we overlooked a mismatch in the records, and when something went wrong, all the blame landed on our nursing department. Can you take responsibility for that?"

I swallowed my anger and kept my voice steady.

"My daughter was treated here for pneumonia three years ago. You can check her medical records. My information is in there."

Benjamin immediately pulled up the archived files, printed them out, and handed them to Alicia.

"Ms. Grant, here are the hospitalization records from three years ago. The guardian is Mr. Martin Lancer. The other information matches."

I thought that would settle it.

"Very well."

However, Alicia did not even glance at the papers. Instead, she took the printout, along with my documents, and tossed them into a filing cabinet.

With an audible click, the drawer was locked.

Benjamin froze. "What are you doing, Ms. Grant?"

Unhurried, Alicia slipped the key into her pocket.

"According to hospital regulations, any documents under suspicion must be opened and verified in the presence of both Security and the Administrative Office."

She looked at me, the corner of her mouth curling into a faint, mocking smile.

"Unfortunately, they've both left for the day. Mr. Lancer, you'll have to wait."

Around us, the other patients' families began whispering.

"What's going on? They won't let him sign?"

"I heard the identity doesn't match. Maybe it's the wrong person."

I stood there, feeling the blood drain from my body, inch by inch.

That so-called 'high-risk contingency plan' Alicia just cited was one I had personally proposed and refined for the Police Legal Affairs Department.

It was meant to prevent malicious medical disputes, not to be used like this.

I never expected Alicia to use that rule against me.

Just then, the operating room doors burst open. A nurse stuck her head out, panic written all over her face.

"Head nurse, Ms. Grant! The director, Edward Johnson, wants to know if the consent form's been signed. The anesthesia window is almost over! If we delay any longer, the patient could be in serious danger!"

Without even turning around, Alicia barked back, "Tell Dr. Johnson the guardian's identity is suspicious. Possible impersonation. For the patient's safety, suspend the surgery. We'll wait for the police to verify everything!"

She spun around and pointed straight at me, shouting at the top of her lungs.

"Who knows where this guy came from? Maybe he's some con artist trying to trick the hospital into operating on some random girl! Keep an eye on him. I've already called the police. Don't let him run!"

I took a slow breath, pulled my phone from my backpack, and started recording.

The camera focused steadily on her face.

"Head nurse, Ms. Grant, is it? This is the last time I'm asking. Are you refusing to let me sign the surgical consent form for my daughter?"

She froze for a second when she saw the camera, then let out a mocking laugh, as if I were an idiot.

"Oh? Planning to post a video and scam some compensation? Who do you think you're showing that to? Let me tell you: it won't work."

She probably thought I was just trying to stir up trouble and collect evidence. It only made her bolder.

Staring straight into my lens, she enunciated every word.

"Yes. I refuse. Because I suspect you're not her father. I suspect you're a trafficker. I've called the police. You can explain yourself to them at the station."

Just as the security guard started toward me, rubber baton in hand, a sharp, impatient voice cut through the crowd.

"What's going on here? Is this a hospital or a marketplace?"

The crowd parted.

Edward Johnson from the emergency department stepped forward slowly.

I had heard about him. He had no real skill to speak of, but he certainly knew how to accept "gifts".

He gave me a quick once-over, and a flicker of disdain flashed in his eyes.

"I'm very sorry," he said smoothly. "Our head nurse is straightforward by nature. She's very responsible. She may have spoken a bit harshly. Please bear with her."

He said the words, but there was not a shred of apology in his gaze.

My daughter was lying inside that operating room, fighting for her life. There was no way I could stay calm.

"My daughter is in there waiting for surgery, yet your head nurse is calling me a trafficker and refusing to let me sign. Dr. Johnson, is this what you call being responsible?"

Edward put on a sympathetic but helpless look and said, "Sir, please don't be upset. We do have our reasons. Our hospital recently introduced a brand-new risk assessment system. In your case, it triggered a red alert.

"We have no choice. According to protocol, we must pause and verify before proceeding."

I let out a humorless laugh.

Verify?

They might be able to afford the wait, but what about my daughter?

What kind of absurd 'risk assessment system' was this?

Since when was there a policy that allowed you to watch a patient suffer while you waited for paperwork?

No. They were not following protocol.

They were afraid to operate.

At that moment, my patience snapped.

"Dr. Johnson," I said flatly, done playing along. "I don't care about your systems or your procedures. Every minute my daughter waits inside that room increases her risk. Today, I am signing that form, and this surgery is happening."

The smile on Edward's face vanished instantly. The pretense of kindness dissolved.

"Sir," he said coldly, "I advise you to calm down. This is a hospital. There are protocols we need to adhere to. If you continue to cause a disturbance, we'll have no choice but to treat this as medical harassment."

He jerked his chin toward the two security guards.

One of them immediately stepped forward and reached for my shoulder.

"Sir, you'll need to come with us."

The intern, Benjamin, rushed out again and spread his arms in front of me.

"Dr. Johnson, you can't do this! The patient is still waiting for emergency treatment! We can't delay care just because there's a procedural issue about the guardian's identity!"

Edward exploded at once, pointing a finger straight at Benjamin's face.

"Benjamin, have you lost your mind? Who told you to meddle? You think this helps? All you're doing is escalating tensions between doctors and patients. Don't want your bonus this month? Or should I make sure you don't even graduate?"

It was a cheap threat, but for an intern, it worked.

Benjamin's lips trembled. He tried to speak, but no words came out.

Watching the fury twist Edward's face only confirmed what I had already suspected.

I looked at him and did something he did not expect.

"Fine. I won't insist on the surgery."

I met their eyes, as if conceding something enormous.

Edward and Alicia exchanged a glance, and they both visibly relaxed.

I said calmly, "Since you're refusing to operate because you question my legal status as her guardian, then please issue me a formal refusal of treatment. That way, I can transfer her to another hospital."

At the mention of a written refusal, Edward's shoulders eased.

It was just a piece of paper. As long as it got rid of me, they did not care.

"If you'd cooperated like this earlier, none of this would've happened," he sneered. "Some people just always choose the hard way."

He waved dismissively at Alicia.

"Alicia, write him the form. Let him go. We've got work to do."

Alicia answered smugly and pulled out a sheet of paper from the drawer.

However, she had no intention of letting me off that easily.

Without hesitation, she ticked the box: Guardian identity in doubt.

That was not enough.

In the remarks section below, she added:

'Family member displays violent tendencies and refuses to cooperate with hospital verification procedures. Strongly recommend contacting the police.'

She shoved the paper out through the window, her face dripping with contempt.

"Take that bastard and get out. I'd like to see which hospital in this city dares to accept you."

I took the paper. My fingertips were cold.

They thought this was humiliation.

They did not realize it was their own death warrant.

What they insulted was not just me as a father. What they trampled on was the bottom line of the law.

The law was clear: for patients in critical condition, physicians must take emergency measures. They were not permitted to refuse treatment.

Now, not only had they refused, but they had handed me written proof of their refusal.

From this moment on, the nature of this incident had completely changed.

"Dr. Johnson." I pointed to the blank signature line in the lower right corner. "According to procedure, this needs the department head's signature, doesn't it?"

At this point, Edward only wanted me driven out of his hospital.

Impatiently, he snatched the pen and signed his name in the space marked Department Head.

"There. Now get out. Stop disrupting hospital order."

I slipped the signed refusal into the inner pocket of my jacket.

Then I turned to the intern who had tried to help me.

"Thank you, Benjamin. Please keep a record of my daughter's medical visit."