Critical

5

Angela removed her coat and draped it over her arm as she exited the elevator on the twenty-second floor of the Trump Tower and briskly walked down toward Angels Healthcare. During the ride uptown from Michael's office, she'd been able to use her BlackBerry to respond to all her e-mails and was reasonably confident she wouldn't be overwhelmed when she got to her office. She wondered how people had functioned pre-Internet.

She acknowledged her secretary, Loren, who was on the phone as Angela passed by. Inside her office, she was about to hang up her coat when she stopped, doing a double take. There was a large clear-glass vase of luxurious red roses perched on the corner of her desk. They stood out in bold relief in the sparse, white decor. After finishing with her coat, and curious who could have sent the flowers and why, she looked for a note. There was none to be found. Now even more curious about the flowers, she leaned out her doorway. She had to wave to get Loren's attention.

"What's with the flowers?" Angela mouthed silently. Loren was still on the phone. From overhearing bits and pieces of the conversation, Angela could tell it was the union representative who'd been persistently trying to organize the Angels Healthcare hospitals. There was no way Angela wanted unionization, but with everything else going on, she didn't have the time or the patience to deal with him, so it fell to Loren to hold him off.

Loren put her hand over the receiver. "I'm sorry. They came with a card. It's here on the corner of my desk." She nodded toward the envelope.

Angela picked up the envelope and got a finger under the flap. Once it was open, she slid out the card. It said simply: Regards from the used one.

"What the hell?" Angela murmured. She turned the card over, but the back was blank. Curious but overwhelmed with all she had to do, she simply slid the card back into the envelope. She'd think about it later.

Tapping Loren's shoulder, Angela motioned for her to again cover the receiver with her hand, and then said, "Tell him I'll meet with him in three weeks. Go ahead and schedule an actual appointment. That should satisfy him. Then call Bob Frampton and Carl Palanco. Tell them to come into my office ASAP. And where's the afternoon schedule?"

Loren pulled out the schedule for the afternoon meetings and handed it over.

Angela retreated back into her office, closing her door. Seated at her desk, she looked at the schedule. Most of the everyday issues of running each of the hospitals was delegated to the department supervisors, but they reported to their respective hospital presidents as well as to a department head in the Angels Healthcare home office, and those individuals in turn reported to Carl Palanco as the COO, and ultimately to Angela as the CEO. By perusing the schedule, Angela could gauge what the rest of the day would be like. She'd been booked to see the general counsel, most likely about the previous day's MRSA death and how to stave off a lawsuit; the risk-management committee chair for the same reason; and the patient safety committee chair. After that, she was to travel over to the Angels Orthopedic Hospital to attend the hospital medical staff meeting. The final scheduled meeting would be back at her office with Cynthia Sarpoulus, so that the infectious-disease professional could give Angela a briefing of what she had learned and what she had planned to do about the previous day's MRSA death.

Of all the meetings, the medical staff meeting was the most important. It would afford Angela a chance, at least at the orthopedic hospital, to impress on the doctors the vital importance of upping their patient census, despite the minor setback the Jeffries case represented. The only way the revenue stream would turn around is if the surgeons did surgery. Angela was aware more than anyone that the success of the specialty hospital depended exclusively on the doctor owners admitting their paying patients, meaning those patients with insurance, either private or Medicare, or those patients with adequate wealth. The specialty-hospital business as per Angela's business plan was not interested in Medicaid or charity cases, or, for that matter, any cases where cost might exceed revenue.

Angela's phone jangled under her arm. It was Loren, informing the boss that the CFO and COO had arrived.

"Send them in," Angela said, putting aside the afternoon schedule.

The two men, dramatic opposites in outward appearance and mannerism, came into the room. Carl Palanco bounded in, snatched one of the four modern straight-backed chairs from where it stood against the far wall, positioned it in front of Angela's desk, and sat himself down. His expression and constant motion suggested he'd had eight cups of coffee. In contrast, Bob Frampton moved as if in oil, and everything about his face suggested a desperate need for a good night's sleep. Yet despite their contrasting miens, Laurie knew them both to be equivalently clever and resourceful, which was why she had strenuously recruited them at the outset to be her key employees.

It took Bob long enough to move a chair next to Carl's that Angela had been tempted to leap up and do it for him. But she stayed in her seat, and the thought gave her insight into her own hyper state. She wondered if she appeared as high-strung as Carl.

"Anything happen this morning that I should know about, apart from the e-mails you men have sent me?" Angela asked, to start things off.

Carl looked at Bob. Both men shook their heads.

"I've met with the heads of supply, nursing, laundry, engineering, housekeeping, and laboratory services to talk about a deeper cut in expenses over the next few weeks," Carl said. "I've gotten some creative ideas."

"I applaud the initiative," Bob said, "but at this point, any efforts in that regard are too little too late, as far as the IPO is concerned."

"I'm afraid Bob is right," Angela said.

"I had to do something," Carl explained. "I couldn't just sit in my office and do nothing. And come what may, an emphasis on cost-consciousness is a good mind-set for our central department heads to have for the future. I mean, it's hardly wasted effort."

Angela nodded. Keeping a rein on expenses was particularly key for hospital profitability as holding companies of hospital chains had learned to great advantage over the last few decades. A large part of Angels Healthcare's profitability at least prior to the MRSA problem, was due to Angela's business plan of building three specialty hospitals at the same time and centralizing things like laundry supplies, housekeeping, engineering, laboratory services, and even anesthesia. Each hospital had a head, or chief, of these various services, but they all answered to the department head in the company's home office.

"How about your morning?" Bob asked Angela. "Any luck?"

"Marginal," Angela admitted. "As you mentioned last night, we're seriously drawn down on our credit at the bank after selling the bonds. The good news is that Rodger Naughton assured me he was not going to call any of our loans. The bad news is that he cannot authorize a loan without collateral, which I expected. On the other hand, he's sent the additional loan request up the ladder, but from his attitude, I think we have to assume it's a lost cause."

"What about your ex-husband?" Bob asked. As was the case with all the key employees, Bob was aware that their placement agent had been married to Angela but divorced a year before she founded Angels Healthcare. Although initially hesitant about the relationship, Bob had accepted it. He'd expressed a preference for a more direct relationship with a blue-ribbon investment bank, but had been won over by Michael Calabrese's ability to come up with an outstanding angel investor during their mezzanine round of raising capital.

"I was able to get him to commit another fifty thousand of his own money," Angela said. She did not mention how demeaning the meeting was.

"Bravo!" Carl said.

"It's a bit short of what I would feel comfortable with," Bob said. "I did my best. Getting him to put in the extra money was like squeezing water from a rock."

"Did you discuss the terms?" Bob asked.

"Oh, yeah! You don't think Michael Calabrese would offer that kind of money without rewarding himself."

"What did you offer?"

"I didn't offer; he told me," Angela said, and went on to explain the terms.

"Whoa!" Bob commented. "He's being rather generous with himself."

"It can't be helped under the circumstances," Angela said. "Call him and draw up the documents. I want that money in our account before he changes his mind. I happen to know how fickle he can be."

"Will do," Bob said, typing himself a note on his BlackBerry.

"Okay, that's it," Angela said, placing her palms on her desk as if she were about to stand up. "Except I want to make sure everyone who knows about the MRSA death yesterday understands that the less said about it, the better. I'd like to keep it away from the medical staff as much as possible."

"I've reminded all the hospital CEOs," Carl said. "I also spoke to Pamela Carson in public relations."

"Good," Angela said. "Anything else?"

"There is one thing I just remembered," Bob said. He straightened himself in his chair. "Paul Yang hasn't come into the office today."

"Has he called in sick?" Angela asked. She felt her general anxiety rise another notch.

"No. I left a message on his cell and also e-mailed him, but he hasn't gotten back to me. I don't know where he is."

"Is that odd for him?" Angela asked, while she debated mentioning Michael's possible role.

"Of course it's odd! He's usually so methodical. I even called his wife. She said he didn't come home last night or even call."

"Good God!" Angela said. "Has she called the police?"

"No, she hasn't. He's done this before, although not for a number of years. He'd had a drinking problem, which had led to some odd behavior. His wife told me he'd been out of sorts of late and had gone back to having a cocktail or two on his way home."

"I never knew he had a drinking problem," Angela said. She did not like to be blindsided about any Angels Healthcare employees, particularly key employees.

"I kept it out of his record," Bob said. "I should have told you when I recruited him, but he and I had worked together for something like six years, and he'd been clean."

"Good God!" Angela repeated, raising her eyes to the ceiling for a moment. "Now we have to worry about a drunken binge by our accountant, who's been threatening us all with filing an eight-K. What else can go wrong?" She took a deep breath before looking back at Bob.

"I know he was struggling with his conscience," Bob said. "That's why I called you about him yesterday, to keep you in the loop. Up until then, he hadn't mentioned the problem for over a week. I'd thought it was a non-issue. Apparently, he'd read an article about the sentencing of the Enron and WorldCom people. I told him what I'd told him before, namely that our not filing the eight-K is justifiable. We're not trying to perpetrate a fraud by bilking people out of their savings or retirement funds, which is what the SEC rule is about. In fact, just the opposite! We're creating capital for people."

"After you called me yesterday about him, I called Michael because when you had originally brought the issue to my attention, I had discussed it with him. I thought with his IPO experience he would have a suggestion of how to handle the problem, and he did. He said he knew someone who could talk to him and put his mind at ease by convincing him that filing the eight-K wasn't necessary in our situation."

"Was it a corporate attorney?"

"I have no idea. I didn't ask, but I find myself wondering if talking with Michael's acquaintance could have had anything to do with Paul's not coming to work today."

"It's possible, but I bet the reason for his being incommunicado is more prosaic, like he got himself blotto and is currently sleeping it off in a fleabag hotel."

"Is there any way we could find out if he filed the eight-K?" Angela asked hesitantly.

"Not that I know of," Bob responded. "We'll just have to wait and see if the shit hits the fan." He laughed humorlessly.

"If you think of a way, let me know," Angela said. "It would be best if we know sooner rather than later, so we can prep our general counsel. We'll be forced to come up with a rational explanation of why we didn't file earlier. Maybe you should start giving it some thought, Bob."

Bob nodded.

"What about Paul's secretary?" Carl asked. "Has she heard from him?"

"Not that I know of," Bob said.

"Maybe we should ask her," Angela said, reaching for the phone. "What's her name?"

"Amy Lucas," Carl said.

Angela asked Loren to call Amy Lucas and have her come by ASAP. Angela glanced at her watch. It was twenty after twelve, meaning there was a chance Amy Lucas would be at lunch.

"What's the occasion for the flowers?" Carl asked. "When I saw them, I hoped it had something to do with your morning attempt at raising capital."

"I wish," Angela said. "To tell you the truth, I have no idea who sent them or why."

"Wasn't there a card?" Bob asked.

"There was a card," Angela said, "but it wasn't helpful." She reached for the envelope, slipped out the card, and handed it across the desk. Carl took it, and both men glanced at it.

"What does 'the used one' refer to?" Carl asked.

"Not a clue," Angela admitted. "You don't think it could have anything to do with Paul Yang, do you?"

Both men shook their heads. Carl handed the card back. Angela puzzled over it for a second, and then her phone rang. It was Loren saying Miss Lucas had arrived.

"Send her in," Angela said, tossing the mysterious card to the side.

Loren opened the door, allowed the secretary to enter, then pulled the door shut.

Amy Lucas was a waif-like woman in her mid-twenties. Her features were delicate and her complexion was pale, marred by a sprinkling of acne across her cheeks. Her frizzy blond hair with its lime-green highlights was pulled back from her face and held with a large tortoiseshell clip. Adding to her youthful, almost preteen mien was a simple shirtdress buttoned all the way to her neck. Her hands were clasped in front of her, evincing her nervousness.

Angela introduced herself, since she'd never before met the young woman, and thanked her for coming so quickly.

"No problem," Amy said. "I know who you are."

"Good. And of course you know these gentlemen."

Amy nodded but didn't respond verbally.

"To put you at ease, we called you in here to ask you a couple of questions about your boss, Paul Yang."

In her own hyper state, Angela wasn't certain, but it seemed to her that her attempt at putting Amy at ease had failed. The woman's hands, previously clasped, were now working at each other. The question of whether Paul and Amy might have had or were having an affair popped unbidden into her mind from Bob's statement about Paul's past.

"What kind of questions?" Amy asked. Her eyes quickly jumped back and forth to all three individuals in the room.

"Have you seen him today?"

"No!" Amy said, inordinately quickly in Angela's estimation.

"Has he called or contacted you in any way?" Amy shook her head.

"Did he say anything last evening about not coming in this morning?"

"No."

Angela looked at Bob and Carl and paused in case they had a question. When they didn't respond, Angela redirected her attention to Amy.

"Do you know what a Securities and Exchange Commission form eight-K is?"

"I think so."

"Has Paul Yang had you fill one out recently?"

"Yes, about ten days ago."

"Was it filed?"

"I don't know. I didn't file it. He told me specifically not to file it."

"Did you type it on your workstation monitor?"

"No, he wanted it on his laptop only."

"I see," Angela said. "Is the laptop in his office?"

"No, he always takes it with him."

"So he took it last night in particular."

"Yes, like every night."

Angela glanced at the men again, but they didn't ask any questions.

"Thank you for coming by, Amy," Angela said.

"You're welcome," Amy responded. After a moment's hesitation, she turned and headed for the door.

"Amy!" Angela called out. "When you hear from Paul Yang, please let one of us know."

"Of course," Amy said, and then disappeared.

"Well," Angela said. "That was a little strange."

"How so?" Carl asked.

"She seemed overly nervous."

"I'd be, too, getting a summons to the corner office," Carl said.

"Maybe so," Angela said. "My main concern is that there is a completed eight-K resting in Paul's laptop, which the missing man presumably has with him."

"It doesn't surprise me," Bob said. "It speaks to his methodicalness. Just because it's in his laptop doesn't mean he's going to file it."

"Well, I hope he turns up soon," Angela said. "I suppose that's it for now."

Both men got up and returned the chairs to their original positions against the wall.

"Remember to call our fearless placement agent to get the loan ASAP," Angela said as they filed out.

Bob waved over his shoulder to indicate he'd heard.

"And let me know the instant either of you sees or gets in touch with Paul Yang!"

"Will do," the two men voiced as the door closed behind them.

Angela sighed and looked out the window. She wished she'd not had any coffee that morning. With everything else that was going on, her usually pleasant buzz was magnified a hundred times over. Her phone rang suddenly, and she literally jumped. She took a deep breath to calm herself. When she picked up the phone, Loren told her that Rodger Naughton was on the line. Angela's pulse quickened. This call from Rodger was either very good news or very bad, meaning he was either letting them know that the bank would give them the desperately needed bridge loan, which would be terrific, or informing them that the bank was calling in one or more of their current loans, which would be an unmitigated disaster. Angela thought the chances were higher that it was the latter. With significant trepidation, she pressed the button below the blinking light and said hello as optimistically as she could manage.

"Sorry to bother you," Rodger said.

"No bother," Angela assured him. She had to restrain herself from demanding straight off whether he was calling with good news or bad.

"I just wanted to call and say it was terrific to see you this morning."

"Well, it was nice seeing you," Angela said with confusion. It seemed a strange way for the conversation to begin.

"I also wanted to convey how sorry I am that I cannot be more receptive to your short-term cash needs."

"I understand," Angela said, her confusion deepening.

"I have, as promised, passed it up through the channels."

"It's all that I can ask."

There was a pause. Angela gritted her teeth, expecting the worst.

"I have a request," Rodger said. "This might be out of bounds, so I apologize in advance. But I wonder if you'd be willing to meet with me for a drink after work. We could go to the Modern, which I find particularly pleasant."

"Is this business or social?" Angela asked with surprise.

"Purely social," Rodger said.

The unexpectedness of the request took Angela completely by surprise. Except for the brief and uncharacteristic reflection on her lack of a social life the previous evening, Angela was too busy to think such thoughts.

"That's very flattering," Angela said at length, coming from the credulous side of her personality. But then from the more powerful, experience-based cynical side, she added, "But what would your wife think of such a meeting?"

"I'm not married."

"Oh?" Angela responded, feeling somewhat guilty The image came to mind of the single photo of his daughter on his desk. "My former wife decided that having a boring banker husband and a demanding child was a burden on her preferred lifestyle, so she departed to greener pastures with half my assets. I've been divorced with full custody about five years now."

Angela instantly related personally to Rodger's situation and felt even more guilty about her reflex cynicism concerning his motives. His matrimonial history seemed uncannily similar to her own, barring the custody issue. Angela could only wish that she had full custody.

"I'm sorry I was so flippant," Angela said. "I assumed you were just another male in a midlife crisis."

"That's understandable. I'm sure you are hit on on a regular basis."

"That's hardly the case, but I have learned to be skeptical."

"So, can I look forward to seeing you when you might be free? It could even be tonight and at your convenience."

"As you can guess from my visit to your office this morning, this is not a good time, so I'm afraid I must decline. But I appreciate your thinking of me, and perhaps after the IPO, if you are still inclined, I'd love to have a drink, and the Modern would be fine. I haven't been many places over the years. I suppose I fall into that sad and narrow category of the hyper, narrow-minded, workaholic businessperson chasing and being chased by the almighty dollar."

"I hardly think that's the case," Rodger said. "Having a preteen daughter and you not having a spouse obviates that. But we'll stay in touch, and good luck to Angels Healthcare."

"Thank you. A bit of luck would certainly help."

Angela replaced the receiver. She could hear disappointment in Rodger's voice, which flattered her on one hand and saddened her on the other, especially hearing her own description of herself. For a brief moment, she lamented how she'd morphed from the person she was when she'd entered medical school to the person she was now, having abandoned committed altruism for equally committed but far less noble entrepreneurialism.

Angela's fleeting reverie was cut short by her insistent phone. Its discordant jangle rudely yanked her back to the exigencies of her company's plight. With more than a tinge of resentment, she snatched up the phone. Loren told her there was a Dr. Chet McGovern on the line who wanted to speak to her.

"What's it about?" Angela demanded, while she tried to place the doctor in one of the three Angels hospitals.

"He wouldn't tell me," Loren said.

For a second, Angela flirted with the idea of telling Loren to ask the man again what he wanted and if he refused, to tell him to… Angela caught herself and refused to even finish the thought. Profanity had been part of her rebellion in college, but she'd grown out of it, mainly because Michael had used it to such irritating excess.

With more than five hundred physician investors, there was no way for Angela to remember all their names. That reality, and the need for the doctors to be encouraged to admit more patients, meant Angela swallowed her pique and took the call. She assumed it would be about the MRSA death the previous day, and prepared herself mentally to describe everything being done to avoid any more infection in the future.

"First, I want to make sure the flowers arrived," the caller said.

Angela's gaze shifted to the roses and their mystery. All at once it dawned on her. She was speaking with the Chet McGovern she'd had the casual drink with the previous night at the club and had "used" to clear her mind and perhaps satisfy her transitory need for some sort of social contact, especially with a member of the opposite sex.

"The flowers arrived," Angela said. "Thank you. It was most unexpected. I hope they mean you have forgiven me."

"That goes without saying," Chet responded, "which brings me to the reason for the call. I thought it over, and after finding a spare two hundred thousand in my night table, I've decided to invest in Angels Healthcare."

There was a slight pause. "Really?" Angela questioned, with her mind momentarily stalled between what she knew was reality and what she wished to be reality.

Chet laughed. "Hey! I'm making a joke. I wish I had a spare two hundred G's, but such is not the case."

"Oh," Angela said. She wasn't laughing.

"I have a sneaking sense you didn't find that so funny."

"What is the real reason for the call?" Angela asked. There was a new edge to her tone.

"I was speaking with a couple of my colleagues, one of whom is a very savvy woman. I told them about meeting you last night and being turned down for dinner tonight. She told me to ask you again and to be direct, even if it meant putting my fragile ego on the line."

Angela smiled in spite of herself. "So you're admitting you have a fragile ego?"

"Absolutely Sometimes it takes me days to recover. With that said, I'm re-asking you to dinner tonight to stave off a depression."

Angela couldn't help but laugh. "You are persistent."

"I'm not sure that's accurate. Calling up like this and asking for more abuse is not my style."

"Well, your honesty and humor have intrigued me, though I didn't like the joke about the two hundred thousand. It was like you were mocking me."

"Absolutely not," Chet said.

"I wasn't joking about the need for short-term capital, and that is honestly why I cannot accept your gracious offer. I truly am distractedly busy. I wouldn't be good company even if I had the time."

"Well, I'm disappointed, but my ego is still intact, thanks to your diplomacy. I tell you what, if you are suddenly successful with your money-raising or depressed you are not, call me. I'll be available at a moment's notice."

When the call ended, Angela spun around in her chair, looking down the length of Fifth Avenue clogged with traffic. The unexpected dinner invites from two seemingly charming but different men, one obviously social and the other an apparent homebody, were remarkably unusual. And unsettling, in the way they made her question her choices and her lifestyle, causing her to wonder again about how she'd gotten sidetracked in her life. In a moment of insight, she sensed that the combination of the government reimbursement rules that caused her inner-city primary-care practice to go bankrupt and the demoralizing experience of divorce from Michael had worked to undermine her value system. She'd become jaded. Success from business, as measured by wealth and its trappings, had trumped notions of altruism, charity, and, apart from her daughter, the pleasures of interpersonal intimacy.

Angela swung back around to face her desk and the problems besieging Angels Healthcare. Pushing the flowers away from her work area, Angela moved the afternoon schedule to center stage. A moment later, Loren brought in a sandwich and a Coke. While she ate, Angela's mind switched back to the new problem about Paul Yang's whereabouts and the laptop with the 8-K file. It was like missing a loaded grenade with its pin half out.

With that thought in mind, Angela reached for her BlackBerry to e-mail Michael about what he might know of Paul's failure to show up for work. As her thumbs danced across the miniature keyboard, she applauded the ability the instrument gave her to communicate without having to talk to the man. It meant she could get the information she wanted without the aggravation she'd otherwise have to endure.

Once the message had been composed, she was about to send it when she had a second thought. She was well aware of Michael's background and childhood, and at times had had unsettling questions about some of his friends and their current lifestyles, including his so-called clients, but she'd never asked because at the time she didn't want to know. Now, as she was about to send the message to Michael, she had a similar feeling and wondered if she wanted to know the answer to what she was asking. Vaguely sensing she might not, she saved the message as a draft and put the BlackBerry aside. She'd deal with the issue later.