Chapter 4 - The Price of Asking Questions
Martin Reeves arrived before lunch.
He was sixty-three, a retired hospital administrator with the cautious manner of someone who had spent decades watching physicians mistake confidence for authority.
He read the referral report twice.
“This doesn't prove misconduct.”
“I know.”
“It does prove the process moved farther than the board understood.”
“I know that too.”
Martin studied her.
“You sound like your father.”
“That isn’t a compliment today.”
He almost smiled.
Then he stopped.
“There’s something you should understand before you start pulling at this.”
He closed the office door.
“Your sister has been carrying more of this place than anybody realizes.”
“That doesn’t give her the right to lie.”
“No.”
“But?”
“But you need to know what you’re walking into.”
The clinic had lost money during two quarters the previous year.
Not catastrophic amounts.
Enough to matter.
Reimbursement delays had increased.
A planned satellite location in Olathe had cost more than expected.
Robert had refused to reduce the number of uncompensated therapy sessions offered through the clinic’s hardship program.
Vanessa had repeatedly warned him.
Robert repeatedly ignored her.
“How bad?”
Martin paused.
“I don’t know the full answer.”
Evelyn looked at him sharply.
“You chair the board.”
“Your father controlled financial reporting more tightly than he should have. Vanessa managed operations, but he remained managing member until his death.”
That sounded like Robert.
Generous with patients.
Secretive with family.
Convinced he could repair problems before anybody else needed to worry.
Evelyn requested an independent financial review.
Martin agreed.
The cost would come from discretionary reserves.
Vanessa found out within twenty minutes.
She entered Evelyn’s office without knocking.
“You hired an outside accountant?”
“I asked the board to.”
“You just burned fifteen thousand dollars to prove you’re angry.”
“No. I spent fifteen thousand dollars because patients are being routed to a company we haven’t sold to.”
Vanessa shut the door.
For the first time since the confrontation, she looked tired rather than polished.
“Do you have any idea how close Dad brought this place to the edge?”
“Show me.”
“I've been showing you for months.”
“You've been showing me sales presentations.”
“Because nobody gives you a medal for making payroll.”
Evelyn stood.
“Is that what this is about?”
Vanessa laughed bitterly.
“You think everything is about that pin now?”
“No. I think that pin made Grant notice a lie you expected everyone else to keep believing.”
Vanessa’s face hardened again.
“You don't understand what I had to do here while you were being noble somewhere else.”
“I was working forty feet from you.”
“You know what I mean.”
Evelyn did.
Afghanistan.
Their father’s admiration.
The part of the family story Vanessa believed belonged to Evelyn simply because Evelyn had left.
“Why did you remove my service verification from clinic materials two years ago?”
Vanessa went still.
That was enough.
Evelyn had hoped for denial.
Instead Vanessa said, “Because Dad was turning you into something you weren’t.”
“What?”
“His answer.”
“To what?”
Vanessa’s mouth tightened.
She grabbed the handle.
Evelyn blocked the door.
“To what, Vanessa?”
Her sister finally looked at her.
“To me.”
Then she pulled the door open and left.
May you like
Evelyn stood alone, listening to Vanessa’s heels fade down the corridor.
The sale suddenly felt smaller than whatever had happened between Vanessa and their father before his death.
