“I didn’t hear surgery,” Prescott said into the phone. “Are there any other centers in the world that are offering surgery for this?
“I see.
“Alright, bottom line it for me. And I know you don’t have a crystal ball, and the numbers that you’re giving are by no means absolute, but I have a very important business to run, and I need to be physically and mentally able to run it for as long as possible. Between chemo and palliative care, which one would give me the more meaningful time.”
Chemo? That confirmed it. It had to be cancer.
“No way. Not a chance. I absolutely cannot miss that much time.”
Bradford had been with Prescott for over twenty years. His compensation had gone nowhere but up, and the number of employees reporting to him had increased exponentially, but he could never really be promoted. There was nowhere for him to go. Unless Prescott were somehow no longer around.
“No, Dr. Timmons, you don’t understand,” Prescott said forcefully. “Let me explain something to you. I’m not coming to work everyday, clocking in and out, to earn a paycheck so I can meet next month’s car payment or maybe take the family on a nice beach vacation. I haven’t taken more than a 3-day weekend off in over ten years. What I do is important. And my physical presence has broad implications for a lot of people’s lives — present and future — on an international scale.”
That sounded like he was leaning toward palliative care to give him more time at the office, Bradford thought, almost giddy. Then an idea popped into his head. He knocked firmly on the door, intending to strike while the iron was hot.
“Thank you very much. I’ll get back to you with my decision in the near future,” Prescott said loudly into the phone before hanging up and calling for whoever it was at his door to come in.
“Hey James, you ok?” Bradford asked, walking in with a pseudo-worried expression. “You look a little peaked.”
“Never felt better,” Prescott replied unconvincingly, obviously preoccupied.
“Well I hope you’re still feeling good after you hear the news I’ve got for you. I just met with the entire orphan ID division,” Bradford lied. “And it’s worse than I thought. They’re telling me our wells are almost completely dry. They keep getting more and more referrals of progressively lower quality, with no trace of a can’t-miss prospect in sight. I don’t think this’ll turn into the worst-case scenario we’ve always talked about, but who knows? It’s bound to happen one day — where we won’t have an IPO for a month and a half. Or two.
“And the big Avillage ETF that runs about a third of our volume is already seeing a lag in volume. These next three months could turn out to be the most important quarter Avillage has seen since we opened.”
Prescott’s shoulders relaxed as his trademark warm smile returned, now certain of what he had to do. “Have we ever backed away from a challenge?” he asked.
“No sir,” Bradford said, smiling duplicitously back at his boss.
As Bradford left the office, he dialed Jen Glass, VP of orphan identification. “Jen, it’s Bradford. Listen, I want you to send me the full portfolios for your top five orphans and stop all progress on their launches. I just finished talking this over with Mr. Prescott. Your orders are not to go ahead with any of these IPOs for now. Is that clear?”
“Mr. Ewing?”
“That’s me,” Ryan said rising to a stand, rubbing his sweaty palms down the front of his jeans.
“Follow me,” the nurse said with a sympathetic smile. “And don’t worry. There’s nothing to be nervous about.”
But she didn’t know why he was there.
She brought him back to an exam room, had him change into a gown and took a quick 12-lead EKG. “You can leave the gown on for now,” she said as she walked out of the exam room. “Dr. Easterbrook will be right in.”
Ryan gave a polite nod. As the nurse walked away, he could just make out, through Dr. Easterbrook’s cracked office door across the hall, the familiar red “Veritas” seal on a framed diploma that could only have come from Harvard.
After several reassurances from the nurse that it would only be a few more minutes, Dr. Easterbrook finally hurried in the door. “A young one,” he noted with a smile, leafing through Ryan’s thin chart. “EKG looks good,” he muttered under his breath. “So what brings you in today.”
“Well I’m home for summer break from college in Boston…”
“Oh really? Which one?”
“I go to Harvard.”
“Really?” Dr. Easterbrook said, lighting up. “My old stompin’ grounds. Which dorm are you in?”
“Wigglesworth.”
“Ha! That’s where I lived my sophomore year,” the doctor beamed. “Long time ago. Long time ago. Hey, is Grendel’s Den still around?”
“Yeah,” Ryan said, happy to be putting off his next line of questioning. “I just ate there last week. Cool place.”
“You thinking about medicine?”
“No, I don’t think so. I’m an econ major.”
“Yeah, the world needs business people too, I guess. So what brings a healthy young man like you in to see the cardiologist?”
“Well, I first saw a doctor up in Boston after I passed out,” Ryan lied. “I think he actually said he trained here. Have you heard of a Dr. Jared Ralston?”
“Oh yes. I helped train him. Very strong clinically.”
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “Maybe not the best bedside manner.”
Dr. Easterbrook laughed out loud. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just I’m not surprised to hear you say that.”
“Well, I probably would’ve stayed with him despite all that, but I think he left Boston. You wouldn’t happen to know where he ended up would you?”
“No, I really don’t. I used to run into him at some of the national cardiology conferences for the first few years after he left Cleveland. Then I guess he stopped going. I haven’t seen or heard from him in years.” As he spoke, he sunk the head of his stethoscope down the collar of Ryan’s gown onto his chest. “Just breathe normally.”
“He never had any discipline issues here or anything did he?” Ryan asked.
Dr. Easterbrook quickly pulled his stethoscope away, and glared at Ryan suspiciously. “Now that would be none of you business!” Then, as quickly as his scowl had materialized, it vanished, as it suddenly dawned on him. He was looking at Ryan Tyler.
He quickly did the math in his head. The age worked out.
He placed his stethoscope back onto Ryan’s chest. “All I can tell you is that he was one of the best fellows ever to come out of this place. But he was always in the shadow of his colleague, Dr. Ryan Tyler.” He paused to listen as Ryan’s heart rate immediately accelerated by twenty beats a minute, confirming his suspicions. “I can tell you honestly that Dr. Tyler was the best fellow I ever trained.”
He looked up to see tears welling in Ryan’s eyes. Ryan fabricated a few coughs and reached up to wipe his eyes. “But they pretty much got along, right?” he asked.
“Seemed to. As I said, I’m not at liberty to discuss any disciplinary action that may have taken place at this institution, but if the state medical board ever took any formal action, that’d be public record. And it’s permanent. You can do a license check on any doctor ever licensed in Ohio at license.ohio.gov.”
Then he smiled warmly at Ryan. “Your heart’s in perfect shape.”
“Thanks,” Ryan said, looking Dr. Easterbrook straight in the eye. “Thanks a lot.”
As soon as he got home, he typed “license.ohio.gov” into his computer’s browser. For some reason, he felt the need to search his parents’ names first. Each page came up with their full name, place and date of birth, and residence on top. “Deceased” was listed next to “current residence” for his parents. In the middle of the page was the license number, credential type and status (active or inactive). And at the bottom was a section entitled “Formal Action.” As expected, no formal action existed on his parents’ inactive licenses.