Hard To Breathe, page 5
part #2 of Drake Cody Series
No worries, Rachelle? Why do you think of using the pills on the upper shelf several times every day? Why do you crave their numbing escape?
A mother needs to protect her babies and help them feel safe.
Try to carry on like normal.
She looked at the cabinet where her pills were.
Chapter 10
CEO Stuart Kline approached his BMW in the hospital lot. He hunched in his winter coat while still worrying that some nasty crud from the ER may have contaminated his custom-tailored suit.
Small wonder Dan Ogren did not like having to wait in that place. Kline clicked his door open, then climbed in. The auto-start had his vehicle comfortable despite the evening’s bitter cold.
He entered a number on his cell phone.
If things worked out, he'd soon be free of the hospital for good. He didn't like sick, smelly, or noisy. He hated dealing with demanding physicians and pissed-off nurses. Worse was being anywhere near sick people or their families. He had others to keep patients and their families away from him, but even the thought of sick people bothered him.
More significantly, the biggest money in the medical business was found even more removed from actual patients. That’s where he wanted to be—getting rich while far away from sick people and those who took care of them.
His connection clicked.
“Afton Tait, university counsel.”
“Tait, Stuart Kline here. What have you heard?”
“I'm holding the position draft in my hands right now. It's eyes-only to a few of the top university brass and the legal team members. There’ll be some fine-tuning, but the main positions are decided.”
Afton Tait had provided legal input on an issue while Kline was head of the university's patent and intellectual property revenues department. Tait was a junior member of the university's legal staff, but Kline had sensed they shared ambition.
They both spelled ambition M-O-N-E-Y.
“And?” Kline asked.
“The legal opinion is that the university is in a no-lose position. There’s no downside to making a grab for the drug. There’d be little to no penalty if somehow the doctors prevail but potentially millions for the university if the courts rule our way.” He paused. “The attorney who handled all the doctors' legal work was the wife of one of the doctors. She filed false documents identifying her as the owner of the research. She signed a contract selling the drug to the Swiss firm and took partial payment. She died before handing over the drug. Because she never filed the intellectual property protection documentation for the drug and research, the doctors’ ownership is vulnerable to the university's claim.”
“She screwed them and tried to cash in for herself,” Kline said. “The protection they thought was in place for their research was not.”
“Correct. She left them wide open. It's the legal team’s opinion that two of the doctors—let me see here—Michael Rizzini and Jon Malar, have no defensible claim. They were in the residency program, had signed the university’s standard intellectual property waiver, and accepted educational credit for their involvement in the research. The lab space is university property, which also favors the board's claim.
“The only person anyone is worried about is the third doctor, Drake Cody. Even without the formal documents, he still has a solid claim. He refused any educational credit, never signed the university’s intellectual property waiver, paid rent for the lab space, and is the principal investigator of record. On the other hand, he is enrolled in a university residency program. Given the compromised paperwork, the belief is that his claim is vulnerable.” The attorney paused. “Worst-case scenario is a court case—it would take years. The university’s team of attorneys versus a young, debt-burdened doctor currently in the news as a convicted criminal.”
Kline nodded, “I’m going to do everything I can to play up his criminal record and discredit him. I know it doesn’t impact directly on his ownership claim, but it should affect public opinion. The timing is perfect.” The news about Drake Cody’s juvenile assault conviction seemed almost too good to be true.
The attorney continued, “At the end of the discussion, the chief financial officer provided estimates of the revenue potential for the drug. If the drug ends up with FDA approval, it will bring in billions. The motion to claim D-44 for the university carried easily.”
“It makes total sense. The money is huge,” Kline said. “What's our next step?”
“We, that is, the university as a public entity working for the good of the citizens, will raid the lab and seize the research.”
“And Ingersen Pharmaceutical’s claim?” Kline said. The Swiss pharmaceutical firm was Kline’s other benefactor in his scheme. He knew where they stood.
“The most likely scenario is we arbitrate an agreement with them where the university gets a percentage of any downstream revenues, like the standard arrangements you dealt with in Patent and Intellectual Property Revenue. Overall, that's the best course, regardless. The Swiss have the resources and expertise to oversee the development and regulatory approvals for the drug while also absorbing the costs. If the drug gets to market, there’ll be big money for all.”
Kline felt his smile stretch wide. Things were developing almost exactly as he'd figured. When he’d learned of the doctors’ misfiled legal work, he'd approached the university with the suggestion to make a grab for the drug.
He'd dealt with the Swiss pharmaceutical firm before, so he'd had a good idea of how they would proceed. And he’d known how to reach out to them through back channels.
He’d positioned himself as a middleman for both entities.
“Excellent,” Kline said. “When will the university move?”
“Soon, but that was left as need-to-know,” Tait said.
“Contact me when it's going to happen.”
“And my money?” Tait asked.
“When the university has the D-44 synthesis info and the drug in hand, you'll be paid,” Kline said. He ended the connection then jammed a fist in the air.
He felt like he was floating. Like he'd just hit the longest, best drive of his life. Like he'd won the lottery.
His position managing the university's patent and intellectual property revenues had educated him to the astronomical dollars in pharmaceuticals. Each year, more than fifty individual drugs had sales over two billion dollars each. The top drug had raked in more than thirteen billion—one drug with sales of more than thirteen billion dollars in a single year!
And that did not take into account how new drugs entering a company’s pipeline influenced stock prices. The profits and impact on stock value led pharmaceutical companies to invest huge sums of money in experimental drugs with breakthrough potential.
Drake Cody's D-44 was such a drug.
Kline's scheme for cutting himself in for a piece of the wealth was progressing even better than he'd hoped.
Too bad for Drake Cody and his naive young doctor buddies. As Kline had learned, most doctors knew science and how to care for patients but were idiots about the real business of medicine. When Kline had ordered Drake Cody to speed up service to Dan Ogren and his wife, he'd sensed the doctor's irritation. So many of these doctors thought they were special because they took care of patients and saved lives.
There was a hell of a lot more to the medical business than that.
Kline put the car in gear, still smiling at his prospects.
The university, the Swiss firm, and one clever individual named Stuart Kline were going to make one hell of a lot of money.
Chapter 11
Rizz rolled his wheelchair into the hospital's physician-on-call sleeping room. He’d never had the chance to be in a call room this early in the evening. For most of his nights in the hospital over the past four years, he was so busy his head had never hit the pillow.
He needed privacy to place a phone call he dreaded. A call that would decide his future with Jon. And much more.
He'd avoided Jon since everything went to hell. They'd both been patients in the ICU at the same time, but even as they'd improved Rizz couldn't face Jon.
Should he confess to the friend he’d wronged or continue with the deception and lies?
Rizz's actions had helped set in motion the events that had devastated Drake's family, almost killed Jon, and left their claim to D-44 in jeopardy.
No one would have predicted Jon's survival two months earlier when he arrived in the ER with gunshot wounds to the chest.
The wounds had put him into prolonged shock. Somehow Drake and the nurses and doctors of Memorial Hospital had saved him. The question that remained—could his brain and body recover?
Jon continued outpatient rehabilitation in his home city of Duluth.
Reports were that Jon's physical recovery continued, but his mental state suffered. Literally an Eagle Scout and choirboy, Jon had formed an unlikely trio with Rizz and Drake. Three very different guys whose unique friendship had been forged in the blast furnace of emergency medicine training.
Rizz had initially figured Jon had to be a phony to act so nice. He’d learned his kindheartedness was genuine. He'd come to envy his friend’s selfless and cynicism-free view of life.
Rizz entered the number to Dr. Jon Malar's family home.
No way could Jon be the same person after all that he’d endured—the agony of his near-lethal injuries, the pain and humiliation of his wife's betrayal and wanton infidelity. Drake had hinted that a deep shadow had fallen over their friend's sunny worldview. Up until the very end, he’d been blindly and hopelessly in love with Faith.
Faith's betrayal had also put at risk the opportunity to cash in on D-44 financially. That wouldn't matter to Jon. He didn't care about money, and besides, his wife's death had made him heir to millions.
“Hello, Malar residence.”
“Mrs. Malar, this is Michael Rizzini. Is Jon able to speak on the phone?”
“I'm sorry. He won't take any calls.”
“It's important. Please.”
“I don't think he'll want to talk. He's had our basement level remodeled and he pretty much lives down there now.” Her voice broke. “He barely even speaks to his dad or me.”
“Tell him it's Rizz and it involves Drake.”
A pause.
“I'll try,” she said.
As the seconds ticked past, Rizz considered being honest. Would Jon knowing that Rizz had been one of Faith's many sex partners help anything?
Hi, Jon. Wanted to call and let you know I screwed your wife, submitted to blackmail, and almost handed over our research to pharmaceutical industry predators. My wandering cock and selfishness contributed to your wife's murder, your near-death, the suffering of Drake's family, and my paralysis. Wondering if you could help me out with something?
No. Now was not the time for honesty. To get what was needed, he'd focus on Jon's affection for Drake.
“Hello.” Jon's voice sounded flat.
“Hi, Jon. It's Rizz. I should have called sooner.”
Silence.
Shit, does he already know?
“How you doing, brother?” Rizz asked.
“I'm alive.” No emotion. Volunteering nothing.
“Sorry you've gone through so much.”
“It's not your fault.”
Rizz mouth went dry. If you only knew.
“I'm calling about Drake,” Rizz said.
“The news story? An assault conviction?” The first hint of emotion. “I don't believe it.”
“Drake told me it's true.”
“Had to be a reason.”
“Doesn't matter, Jon. They'll take his license.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Minnesota state medical board.”
“They can't do that.” He sounded angry.
Can’t? Jon’s statements were off target. Residual damage? Depression?
He’d been a brilliant guy. This was not like him.
“Jon, Drake lied in all his applications. He hid a felony assault conviction. They have solid grounds.”
“It's not right. Drake is the best.” Jon sounded like a fretful child.
“Unless something changes, Drake is going to lose his medical license and maybe even the rights to D-44. That's why I called. We need to help him.”
“Damn it.” Jon's voice was shrill. “I can't help anyone.”
Jon never cursed and did not whine. He definitely wasn’t himself.
“You're wrong, Jon. You can help.”
“I'm not good for anything now. Don’t call me.”
“Listen to me. Please. Don’t hang up. For Drake. He needs you. Give me one minute. Okay?” Rizz held his breath with the phone pressed tight to his ear...
Chapter 12
Jim Torrins paced the carpet of his paneled office. The administrative offices were deserted and dark except for his desk lamp. He hadn't been in the hospital after midnight since his days as a practicing physician. He missed taking care of patients, but after thirty-three years of being on call, sleeping through the night was incredible.
As the hospital's President of Medical Affairs, uninterrupted sleep was the only desirable thing about the job these days.
His position assured that every day he faced problems, unhappy people, and disapproval. Staff confrontations, claims of malpractice, pressure-cooker emotions, and complaints of all kinds came his way. Patients, their families, medical staff, business operations, and even board members directed problems to him. As head of Medical Affairs, he was the lightning rod for anybody who was dissatisfied or angry.
He prided himself on objectivity and balance. He knew some people thought he was a cold fish and not a strong backer of the medical staff. Many thought administrators had it easy. I wish it were true.
He was a realist, and that was requirement number one for the job. His wife kidded that he loved to suffer. Lately he wondered if she was right.
Recent troubles included a SWAT team target shot dead in the hospital parking lot and three of the hospital's best ER doctors wounded. Adding to those problems was the useless new CEO, a threatened nurses' strike, and a quarterly financial report showing the hospital operating deep in the red.
All of these issues impacted Jim as president of Medical Affairs. The CEO held the ultimate responsibility for most of the issues, but unfortunately the CEO was Stuart Kline. Jim sighed. He was proud of the hospital and the care it delivered. He did not want to see it fail.
And today things had worsened.
Drake Cody exposed on TV news as a convicted felon. Assault no less. Jim had not believed it initially but now knew it to be true.
For most of Drake Cody's time at Memorial Hospital, he'd been a clinically excellent, low-profile member of the emergency medicine resident staff who also had a strong commitment to research. Then came the incident with the drug-seeker who'd assaulted an ER nurse. Shortly thereafter, the hospital was again in the news when pharmaceutical industry criminals tried to steal the promising research Drake had developed. Drake and his colleagues Jon Malar and Michael Rizzini had been shot, and the quiet young doctor had nearly lost his family. Terrible misfortune.
Today's report revealed that Drake Cody's history of attracting trouble had started years before.
The TV broadcast had thrust Drake's previous incident with the drug-seeking, assault-charged ER patient back to the forefront. Negative media attention, medical staff problems, financial woes, and legal action—the hospital was in deep trouble.
And Drake Cody—disaster.
He had to know what the discovery of his criminal record meant. Clearly, he'd falsified all his documentation throughout his career in medicine. The state medical board—already beleaguered—looked bad once again.
Jim didn't see any way Drake wouldn't lose his license and career. A real shame. The young doctor had the gift.
Jim's cell beeped a text message alert. He pulled his phone then eyed it.
where are you? he read. Jim sighed. Kline, the annoying CEO. Jim’s cross to bear.
Jim texted, my office.
stay there. see you in 5 min
Kline in the hospital on a Sunday night? Why?
Jim had little hope the man would be useful. The guy hadn't proved useful for anything in his initial months on the job.
Kline's appointment to the CEO position still mystified Jim. Had the hospital Board all been drunk? Why had the university contingent been so keen on him getting the spot? Had to have been the guy's reputation for financial results. Leadership skills or a focus on patient care had clearly not been selling points.
***
Stuart Kline entered Jim's office.
Kline wore casual clothes, but was the kind of guy who never looked casual. In his button-down shirt and pants, he looked like a department store mannequin. Stiff and posed. Hair just so. As if his outfit were missing a tennis sweater tied around his neck.
“Let's move to my office,” Kline said.
“No reason to move.” Jim said. “What do you need?”
Kline looked at the chair in front of Jim's desk but remained standing.
Jim knew Kline's office setup. The desk was gargantuan and his chair elevated—a transparent ploy that assured the CEO would be higher than anyone sitting in front of him. Petty manipulation 101.
“Do you know you have a criminal on the medical staff?” Kline's words were an indictment. “The news broadcast his record. And now we'll be facing civil suits because of your Dr. Drake Cody assaulting that black guy. We need to cut all ties with him. He’s bad news.”
“I'm aware of the news story.” Jim gave silent thanks for his ability to deal with idiots without blowing his stack. “And the incident in the ER you refer to was not Drake Cody assaulting anyone. He defended an ER nurse who was assaulted. Saying otherwise is irresponsible.”
“That's what people are saying.” Kline shrugged.
“No, Kline. That's what the lawyer for the man who demanded drugs and struck one of our nurses said.” Jim raised his voice about once every six months. Kline in his short tenure had altered that pattern.
