Allyson watched Romey’s shot, mouth agape.
“Never believe what you see,” said Romey. “Just like I don’t have to believe you and your ‘everything’s just perfect’ routine.”
A shadow crossed Allyson’s face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, I know you’re facing a seven percent loss for the past year. Not the kind of financial position that can be corrected with a sports medicine program, especially since I can assure you those two orthopedists are not coming near your hospital.”
If Allyson was stunned by Romey’s drive, she appeared in absolute shock at his knowledge of Suburban West’s financial position.
“I also know that HealthSense Insurance is giving you a four percent haircut and Unified is considering dropping you from their network. That could hurt. They make up-what? Twenty-one percent of your patients?”
Allyson was too stunned to speak. Insurance negotiations and rates were highly confidential.
“So, Allyson, you’re in a very weakened position, and my hospital is flush with cash. Unless you work magic, your days at Suburban West are definitely numbered.”
Her body deflated. “How do you know all that?”
“You know that’s a question I can’t answer. But I am here to help you.”
“How?”
“Tomorrow you will find a proposal on your desk for a management contract between White Memorial and Suburban West. You can read it if you like, but suffice it to say the terms are financially favorable for individual board members. In the end, however, White Memorial will have total control. You don’t have the balance sheet to make it and we both know it. You can string the board along for a while, sure, but they’ll see a better way forward in my proposal. So, you’re going to include me in an executive-level meeting and together we’re going to make sure you sell my proposal to your board exactly as it is written.”
“What about me?”
“There will be a transition period where you’ll share CEO duties with someone I select. When the merger’s complete, I’ll have a position open as director of support services at White that just may be right for you.”
“Are you kidding me? I run the hospital. You expect me to take a director’s position?”
“Let’s face it. You haven’t exactly done a very good job, have you? It’s probably less than six months before your board cans you, so I think you’re not in much of a position to negotiate.”
“I’m a damn fine CEO. I climbed my way to the top and worked for everything I got.”
Roman knew this was true. After Allyson’s golf career came to an abrupt and unexpected conclusion, she went to Tufts and got her MS in occupational therapy. Upon graduation she landed a job in a private rehabilitation hospital run by the owner, a neurologist. In a few years she became the director of occupational medicine, and in that capacity implemented a winning strategy for attracting patients. Allyson was so successful she was promoted to COO, where she came to the attention of an executive recruiter looking for someone with panache and cachet to help turn Suburban West from a bleeder into a success story.
“I’m not saying you didn’t work for what you got, Allyson. I’m just saying you were the right person for a time, and times have changed.”
“And what makes you so great, Romey? How is it you’re keeping so high afloat?”
Romey made a tsk-tsk noise. “Those are trade secrets, my dear. Let’s just say my board is extremely pleased with my performance because I always hit my numbers.
“Now, here’s how it is going to work, Allyson,” he continued. “You will take whatever job I tell you, and you will do whatever I tell you.”
“Please, Romey. Spare me the alpha male bravado. I can’t be played like that.”
“No? I disagree. Have a look at this.” Romey pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Allyson.
Her body shook with anger as she looked at the confidential agreement between her and the LPGA.
“If you don’t support me fully on this, Allyson, I will wait until you are fired by Suburban West-and then I’ll make sure you won’t be able to get a job selling Big Gulps at the 7-Eleven.”
Romey’s face was calm, but his interior glowed. The smell of dirty laundry always intoxicated him.
While Allyson told people she had left the tour because she wanted to pursue a career and family, the truth was far different. She had thrown several matches for a Vegas bookie who had blackmailed her with evidence of her scandalous affair with a tour director. The agreement was that if she left the tour on her own volition, the LPGA would not press charges, because they did not want the bad publicity that would result. If however, this information was ever made public, the tour would come after her personally and press criminal charges. The damages from litigation would be ruinous.
“I assume we have an agreement.”
Allyson stared at the paper.
“I would like to hear it, Allyson.”
“Yes, you prick. We have an agreement.”
“Such language. Not a good way to start off our new relationship,” said Romey, as he swung his clubs over his shoulder and sauntered back to the clubhouse.
CHAPTER 14
Jordan Cobb sat at the kitchen table in the two-bedroom apartment of his next-door neighbor, Ms. Mae Walker, with an algebra book open and a sharpened number two pencil in his hand.
Seated across from Jordan, with a scowl on his boyish face and his thin arms folded tight across his chest, was Emmett Walker, Mae’s middle son. Jordan came to the Walkers’ every Tuesday to tutor Emmett in math. Jordan wore his professional attire, a polo shirt and jeans, and looked about as hip-hop as Mr. Rogers. Emmett, who kept his dark hair trimmed short, was dressed in his full street regalia, including sneakers so white they looked like two giant teeth, baggy jeans, and a Rocawear hoodie.
“Come on, Emmett,” Jordan said. “You know how to do this problem in your sleep.”
Emmett leaned back in his chair, a playful hint in his big brown eyes. “Yeah? Keep talking about it and you’ll put me under. Then I guess I’ll figure it out.”
Mae Walker, a full-figured woman whose kind face could turn threatening in a blink, stopped stirring whatever delicious concoction she was cooking and glowered at her son.
“You mind your manners, Mister Walker,” she said. “Jordan is here to help and you’re here to listen and learn. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Ma. Sorry, Ma.”
Mae held her stern expression until she felt her directive had taken, then turned up the volume on the small television on the kitchen counter and went back to stirring the pot.
Like a lot of the mothers Jordan knew (he tutored many of their kids), Mae Walker was both a stern disciplinarian and a loving parent. For kids like Emmett, it was an essential combination. Mr. Walker had not been a part of the family at any point that Jordan could remember, and Jordan had lived in the apartment next door since he was in diapers. In a neighborhood like this one-urban, tough, more sirens than birdsong-it was easy for a kid like Emmett to detour onto a crooked path.
Dorchester could be a bit like a checkerboard of good and bad neighborhoods, five blocks trouble free and then five blocks a whole lot sketchier. The better the neighborhood, the higher the rent, which was why Ms. Walker and Jordan’s mom lived where a lot of the single mothers lived, in the not-so-nice part of town. Keeping kids in school meant keeping them off the street. That was good for the mothers and for Jordan’s tutoring business.
“Come on, Emmett. We got this one. X minus three equals negative five. Now solve for X.”
Emmett gazed out the window behind Jordan with a sullen look on his face. “Shit, man, I dunno.”