Chapter 4: The Doctrine of Necessity

Chapter 4: The Doctrine of Necessity

The hearing room on the fourth floor of the municipal building was designed to be forgettable. Beige walls, scuffed linoleum floors, and the lingering scent of stale coffee and anxiety. It was a room for grievances and procedural battles, a place where passion went to die under the soul-crushing weight of bureaucracy. For Alex, it felt like a cage.

He sat at one side of a long, cheap conference table, its wood veneer peeling slightly at the corner. Division Chief Peterson was beside him, looking profoundly uncomfortable. On his other side sat Ms. Davies, the city lawyer. Her posture was straight, her expression unreadable, a portfolio of documents laid out neatly before her. Today, her job was to defend the city’s employee, which by extension meant defending Alex. It was a functional alliance, not a friendly one.

Across the table, Markus Henderson was in his element. He wore a suit that was a size too small and a shade too shiny, a power-red tie cinched tightly at his thick neck. He was performing, playing the role of the aggrieved citizen for the three-person review board—a trio of grim-faced, middle-aged administrators who looked as though they’d rather be anywhere else.

“...and this blatant act of civil rights violation was not just an isolated incident of poor judgment,” Henderson was saying, his voice resonating with practiced indignation. “It was the culmination of a campaign of targeted harassment by a city employee operating under the color of law. Paramedic Ryder displayed a shocking, cavalier disregard for private property and the rule of law itself.”

Alex kept his face a neutral mask, his hands resting calmly on the table. He let Henderson talk. The man was a leaky faucet of self-importance, and the best strategy was to let him drip himself dry.

The lead board member, a tired-looking man named Fitzwilliam, turned his gaze to Alex. “Mr. Ryder, your report states you deemed the situation a medical necessity. Could you elaborate?”

“Yes, sir,” Alex said, his voice steady and devoid of emotion. “Dispatch information indicated a 74-year-old bariatric female, fall victim, with a high probability of a fractured hip. A hip fracture in an elderly patient is a time-sensitive, life-threatening emergency. Complications can include internal bleeding, fat embolism, shock, and pulmonary embolism. The 'golden hour' is not just for trauma patients. Every minute of delay increases the risk of mortality and severe, long-term complications.”

He spoke with the crisp precision of a man who had seen those complications firsthand. He didn't need to shout. The facts were his ammunition.

Henderson scoffed loudly. “Oh, please. The ‘golden hour.’ More macho paramedic nonsense. She fell in her living room, she wasn’t in a car wreck. He’s exaggerating to justify his little power trip.”

Alex’s gaze flickered to Henderson, the cold fury he’d been suppressing stirring in its depths. He saw Mrs. Gable’s kind, tired face in his mind, heard her whisper about the years of torment. He felt the phantom itch of the scar above his eyebrow. Let it go, Ryder. Stick to the facts.

Before Alex could respond, Captain O’Malley was called to testify. The fire captain, still in his uniform, filled the doorway and seemed to shrink the room with his presence. His testimony was blunt and to the point.

“Ryder called for an assist to clear an obstruction,” O’Malley said, his voice a low rumble. “My job isn't to ask why, it's to clear the way for medical personnel to reach a patient. We encounter this kind of thing—less dramatic, maybe—all the time. Parked cars, locked gates. When a paramedic on scene declares an access emergency, we act. We don't form a committee. We don’t debate property law. We clear the path. It’s what we do.”

Henderson tried to cross-examine him. “So you’re saying you’ll destroy sixty thousand dollars of private property on the whim of a single paramedic?”

O’Malley fixed him with a stare that could melt steel. “I’m saying I’ll drive my engine through the front door of a mansion if it means my guys can get to a dying kid. The truck was an object. The woman in the house was a human being. It’s a simple calculation.”

The board members exchanged glances.

Finally, it was Alex’s turn for a concluding statement. Fitzwilliam looked at him. “Mr. Ryder?”

Alex stood up slowly. He didn’t look at the board; he looked directly at Henderson, locking eyes with the man who had caused all this.

“Mr. Henderson is correct about one thing,” Alex began, his voice quiet but carrying to every corner of the room. “I made a choice. But the choice wasn’t between Mrs. Gable’s well-being and his truck. That’s the choice he wants you to see. The real choice was between my duty and his ego.”

He let the words hang in the air.

“My duty—my sworn oath—is to provide medical care to any person in need, to the best of my ability, without prejudice. That duty requires access. It requires me to mitigate any and all delays. Mr. Henderson’s ego required him to prove a point. It required him to assert his dominance over a situation where he had none. He used his property as a shield for his arrogance, and in doing so, he became a direct threat to the health and safety of his neighbor.”

Alex took a step closer to the table. “He calls himself a former lawyer. A man of the law. But the first principle of a just society isn't the sanctity of a pickup truck. It's the protection of the vulnerable. Mrs. Gable was vulnerable. He was not. I was presented with two harms: one, a financial harm to a piece of depreciating machinery owned by a man who was actively obstructing an emergency response. The other, a potentially fatal medical harm to a helpless elderly woman lying injured on her floor. I chose to prevent the greater harm. And I would make the same choice again. Every single time.”

He sat down. The silence in the room was absolute. Peterson was staring at his hands. Henderson’s face was a mottled, unhealthy shade of purple.

It was Ms. Davies who delivered the final, clinical blow. She stood, addressing the board.

“Gentlemen, what Paramedic Ryder is describing, and what Captain O’Malley’s actions support, falls squarely under a long-established legal principle known as the ‘Doctrine of Necessity.’ The doctrine states that a person is justified in committing an act that would otherwise be considered a crime or a tort if it is done to prevent a greater harm. Pushing a vehicle out of the way to save a human life is the textbook definition. Mr. Henderson’s complaint is legally and morally baseless.”

The game was over. Henderson knew it. The board knew it. The veneer of his legalistic outrage had been stripped away, revealing the petty, spiteful core beneath.

Fitzwilliam cleared his throat, shuffling his papers with an air of finality. “This board finds that Paramedic Ryder and the responding fire department personnel acted reasonably and appropriately under the Doctrine of Necessity. The complaint is dismissed. Your suspension is lifted, effective immediately, Mr. Ryder. This hearing is adjourned.”

A strangled sound escaped Henderson’s throat. He shot to his feet, knocking his chair over with a clatter. “This is an outrage! A miscarriage of justice! You can’t just—!”

“The hearing is adjourned, Mr. Henderson,” Fitzwilliam repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Henderson’s face contorted with pure, undiluted venom. He pointed a trembling finger at Alex. “This isn’t over, you glorified ambulance driver! You think you’ve won? You have no idea what’s coming for you. I will ruin you!”

He then turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him with enough force to rattle the windows.

Peterson let out a long, shaky breath and clapped Alex on the shoulder. “Well done, Ryder. Now, for God’s sake, try to stay out of my office for a while.”

Alex simply nodded. He felt a wave of relief, but it was a shallow, hollow thing. He was vindicated. He had his job back. He had won.

But as he watched the door tremble in the aftermath of Henderson’s exit, the victory felt like ash in his mouth. Henderson had faced no consequences for what he had done to Mrs. Gable. He had been momentarily thwarted, his ego bruised, but he was free to go back to his perfect lawn and his petty tyranny. This wasn’t justice. This was just a successful defense.

The turning point wasn’t the board's decision. It was the look in Henderson’s eyes as he left—the promise of retribution. A promise Alex had no intention of letting him keep. The time for defense was over. Now, it was time to plan an attack.