“Daniel,” she pleaded. “Please. Let’s talk.”
He stared at her. “Later.”
“Okay,” she said. “I love you.”
She watched him clench his jaw; then he walked up the stairs. A moment later, she heard his office door slam.
CHAPTER 37
RACHEL
RACHEL SAT IN a dimly lit hospital room with her lifeless daughter. The room was bland and sterile and contained only a gurney, a couple of chairs, a stainless-steel table, and a box of crisp tissues. She’d been sitting in the room for hours when there was a soft knock on the door.
A tall, thin man wearing a button-down shirt and a lab coat stepped in. Flanking him was an orderly and the nurse she’d been turning away all day. When the man in the lab coat laid a hand on Rachel’s shoulder, her panic ratcheted up another notch. They were going to make her leave.
“Good evening, Ms. Jacobs. I’m Dr. Howard,” he said, sitting in one of the room’s two chairs. His forehead creased. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
Rachel stared at the man through her tears and nodded. Or at least she thought she did.
“I understand you’ve spoken with Suzanne Whitney, one of our grief counselors,” he said. “Suzanne is great at what she does. She’ll help you coordinate the funeral arrangements for your daughter, and . . .”
Funeral arrangements.
Please . . . let me be dreaming.
Martha said that Suzie had stopped breathing. Dr. Rowdy told her that her little girl had been declared DOA: dead on arrival. Dead on arrival. Rachel asked if Suzie had another seizure, but no one seemed to know at this point. How could Martha have let this happen? How could she have let this happen? It felt like someone was standing on her chest. The bottom of her rib cage burned from the many hours of crying.
She was vaguely aware that the man was still talking. But his voice sounded far away. His words pointless. Everything was pointless, surreal. “Is there someone we can call? Someone who can drive you home?” the man was asking.
Home.
There was no home without Suzie.
CHAPTER 38
DANIEL
DANIEL CALLED IN sick for the first time in his two-year career as a doctor.
He isolated himself in his office most of the day, figuring out his finances and typing his letter of resignation, still unsure of what the hell he was going to do with his life now that the one he had so carefully built was coming apart at the seams.
He squeezed the bridge of his nose. There were so many things he needed to do and think about. It was difficult to prioritize everything.
Mia had knocked around 6:00 a.m. to tell him she’d made him breakfast. A few hours later, she slid a note beneath the door to let him know she had left lunch for him and was now going out.
Tell her you know about Christian. Tell her to pack her stuff. To get the hell out of your house! the voice roared in his head. Lately, it had become louder, more insistent. He cracked open the seal of a bottle of Jameson and poured a drink in an attempt to shut it up.
He didn’t have the mental energy to make a decision about Mia just yet. There was still a part of him that didn’t want to see her go.
Daniel . . . No.
He was going to take care of one thing at a time. Shift his focus back to Respira and the children it was harming. His relationship issues would have to take a back seat . . . for now. He’d just put one foot in front of the other and take things at a reasonable pace or else he feared he would snap.
He searched for the number of that medical journalist. He wanted to meet her to see what she wanted. He would also reach out to Rachel. To apologize for not giving her concerns more attention, and he’d ask if there was anything he could still do to help her and Suzie.
An hour later, Daniel turned off San Vincente Boulevard onto Montana Avenue and found New World Grill, the farm-to-table-themed restaurant where he and Gail Whitman had agreed to meet.
He handed his keys to the valet and walked in, inhaling the sweet scent of cedar. He told the hostess he was meeting someone and wandered through the restaurant looking for the redhead whom he’d seen Teddy chase out of the office. He found her sitting in a booth toward the back of the restaurant. She was dressed crisply in a blue jacket over a white blouse.
She stood up when she saw him. “Thank you so much for meeting me,” she said, smiling warmly. She held out her hand. As he shook it, he noticed the right side of her face was bruised, and there was an inch-long cut across her forehead.
The waitress stopped by the table, and he ordered a whiskey. After she’d walked off, Gail regarded him. “Like I said on the phone, everything we talk about today is off the record.”
If Teddy could only see you now, Daniel. For God’s sake, get out of here. This woman isn’t to be trusted. She’s a hack reporter!
The voice had screamed at him the whole way to the restaurant. He continued to ignore it. He wanted to hear what this woman had to say.
“Why did you want to talk to me?” Daniel asked.
“Rachel Jacobs told me about you. She said it was fine to mention her name.”
He’d suspected it had been Rachel. “If this is about Suzie, you need to know that I didn’t know—”
Gail shook her head. “I’m not here to attack you, Doctor. Quite the opposite. I’m here because I think you want the same thing I do.”
“Which is?”
“To raise awareness about Respira. To get it taken off the market until it can be studied properly.”
How did Rachel know he had concerns?
As though reading his thoughts, Gail said, “Rachel Jacobs isn’t the only person I’ve spoken to. I’ve heard you’ve been raising concerns.”
“Who—?”
“The source asked for anonymity. I’m sure you can understand.”
He nodded but was still very curious.
“So, am I right to assume you have concerns?” Gail asked.
Leave, dammit. You’re making your situation even worse!
“Yes. I do have concerns.”
Gail nodded. “Then we’ll have a lot to discuss.”
Gail explained that her nonprofit, Help Our Kids, provided parents, other caregivers, and medical practitioners unbiased information on pharmaceuticals commonly prescribed to kids. “When Respira hit my radar, I became especially concerned and launched a sister site called GetTheFactsAboutRespira.com, and it’s been my focus the last two months.”
“I’m familiar with the site. Impressive resource when I’m not getting 404 errors,” Daniel said.
“Yeah, that.” Gail sighed. “It gets hacked often, despite having both browser and server-side validation, remote file upload denial, and HTTPS encryption.”
Daniel’s forehead creased. “Your site’s being hacked?”
“Multiple times a day.”
“Do you know who’s doing it?”
“My guess is it’s someone who’s profiting handsomely from Respira’s sales,” she said. “We maintain a bank of mirrored servers, so we can usually bring the website back online within a few minutes. But now with the big push to get Respira on the shot schedule, I can barely keep it up.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Daniel said, studying the bruising on the side of her face. Wondering how she’d gotten it.
The waitress set Daniel’s drink on the table. Daniel took a long sip, then set the glass down. “What I don’t understand is how Respira received approval in the first place. I mean, for one, it contains an exceptionally high amount of aluminum. For two, there’ve been no long-term studies. Our kids are the long-term study. That doesn’t sit well with me. Hell, it shouldn’t sit well with anyone.”
Gail nodded. “Yes, it was certainly fast-tracked like other drugs of its kind, not studied nearly as long or as rigorously as most other pharmaceutical products. In terms of aluminum, it meets the FDA’s guidelines but only when it’s broken into the three doses. It seems it was carefully designed so that each dose
hits just at the maximum allowable dose. But inject three doses over a period of six days, and kids are dealing with a shitstorm of aluminum. It appears some kids can tolerate it in the short-term. But some kids can’t. It’s like a lottery of sorts; we don’t know who will be injured until after the kid is injected. Then there are the doctors who are telling everyone that the kids’ adverse reactions are not connected. They’re underreporting the reactions, if they even report them at all. Not only that, but aluminum is only one of many concerning ingredients,” Gail said. “This drug contains three known carcinogens, but no one’s talking about that, either. That or the fact that Respira hasn’t been tested for carcinogenicity and probably never will be.”
He thought about how the other doctors at brunch refused to even look at the information he’d compiled for them. Didn’t want to hear his concerns. Teddy’s rant about plausible deniability. He decided to talk to Gail about all of it.
When he was done, Gail nodded. “Willful ignorance. It’s almost impossible to get someone to understand something when his or her livelihood depends on them not understanding it, isn’t it?” She sat back in her chair. “Immunext and the industry as a whole are doing everything in their power to control the conversation right now. There are over sixty more immunoceuticals being rushed through the pipeline as we speak. If they let parents question one, they’ll be much more likely to question the others, which would be disastrous to sales.”
Daniel sipped his drink and listened.
“A lot of folks want to see this medication succeed despite its medical value. Then there are people like your boss, Dr. Reynolds, who have even more riding on it winning a coveted spot on the shot schedule.”
“What do you mean? Because of the incentive bonus?”
“Well, there’s that, which of course is rather significant and difficult for a lot of doctors to say no to,” Gail said. “When promised a juicy piece of a multibillion-dollar pie, people, doctors included, will justify doing things they never thought they’d ever stoop to doing.” She tilted her head and watched him. “But it appears Dr. Reynolds has gone an extra step. While digging through Immunext’s SEC filings, I made an interesting discovery. Large blocks of stock were purchased by a fairly new offshore trading company named Teddy Bear Trading. The owners of the company? Dr. Reynolds’s wife, his sister-in-law, a brother-in-law, and a cousin.”
Daniel’s breath caught in his chest. “Wait. Teddy bought stock in Immunext?”
“It appears so.”
“How did you find that out?”
“SEC filings are a matter of public record, Doctor. When Respira makes it onto the schedule, shares of their stock will explode, and Reynolds will be financially set for life.”
Daniel was speechless.
“People do dark, despicable things when it comes to money,” Gail said.
There was a heavy, sick weight in the air. The puzzle was finally coming together. Now Teddy’s behavior was starting to make all the sense in the world. Daniel shook his head. He’d looked up to Teddy. Had thought he was an excellent doctor. But that was before. “So, why me? Why did you want to meet with me?”
Gail leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “I’d like to do an interview with you. To go public with your concerns.” She was silent for a moment, as though letting what she’d said sink in before going further. “Of course, it’ll be risky for you, so I understand if you decline. But I hope you won’t because our children need your voice, Doctor. I’ve published stories from several parents of kids who were injured by Respira . . . and while it helps raise awareness, at the end of the day, parents can scream until they’re blue in the face that this drug is hurting their kids, but most people won’t listen. Most will quickly write off parents without even taking the time to hear them out.”
Daniel’s phone buzzed. He looked at the screen. It was the office. Probably wanting to find out if he would be in tomorrow. He silenced it, deciding to call back in a few minutes.
Gail continued, “But it’s different when a doctor speaks up. What a doctor says carries a lot of weight. I’ve spoken to half a dozen doctors and nurses over the last month who tell me behind the scenes that they are concerned about Respira, but they aren’t willing to go public because they know they will face backlash that could cripple their careers. Although there are physicians in Europe and Japan who have been speaking out for months now about their concerns, our media has failed to cover any of it, so the American public has no idea. We need more American doctors to speak up.”
Daniel nodded. “Okay. Give me some time to think about it.”
“Fair enough.”
Daniel decided to tell her about the brown envelope and its contents. While he talked, she seemed to listen intently.
“So, you’re already on their radar.”
Daniel knitted his eyebrows. “I guess so, but I don’t understand why. Only a few people know that I have concerns.”
“Well, I knew, didn’t I?”
Good point.
“Word travels fast in these circles, Doctor,” she said. “Of course, if you do decide to go public, you’re going to have to take safety precautions.”
He thought of Dr. Hemsworth. Also the possibility, however small, that Andy’s death might be connected, too. “So, I don’t understand. If doctors who speak out about this are in danger, then why not you, too?” Daniel asked.
Gail’s laugh was bitter. “I get death threats all the time. I can’t even step foot in my own house or drive my car right now. Not to mention stay in the same hotel more than one night at a time. Three weeks ago, I was working in my living room when someone unloaded five rounds into the bay window. The police never came up with any leads. Then, a week later, the brakes in my car were cut. Hence the bruise, the gash,” she said, pointing to her face. “Three nights ago, when I returned to my hotel room, I found it ransacked, and my laptop was gone. Trust me. I’m always, always watching my back.”
“That’s . . . unbelievable.”
“Believe it. It’s true,” Gail said. “But I’m not going to let them frighten me. I’m not going to stop spreading the word about this drug. They’ll have to kill me first.”
Another call was coming in. It was the office again. Daniel frowned, wondering why they were being so persistent. Maybe something was wrong. “Excuse me. I need to take this,” he said and stood up.
“Dr. Winters here,” he said, walking toward the bathroom.
“Hey, Doc.” It was Margy. Her voice was muffled, as though she was covering the phone with her hand. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“What is it?” he asked, pushing open the door to the men’s room and walking in.
“We received word that one of your patients passed away.”
“What? Who?”
“Suzie Jacobs.”
It took Daniel a second to process the words. When he did, his vision began to tunnel. He leaned against the long counter and fought to breathe. “What?”
He realized Margy was still talking, but he heard the rest of her words through a fog.
“I’m really sorry to have to relay such bad news.”
“What happened?”
“All we know at this point is that she died in her sleep.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking about the kid who died of respiratory arrest during the drug’s remarkably short drug trial. “Jesus.”
After ending the call, Daniel dropped his phone on the counter, whirled around, and punched one of the metal stall doors. A stinging pain shot through his knuckles and up to his elbow.
He punched it again.
CHAPTER 39
DANIEL
SOMEONE SLID A shot glass in front of Daniel. He looked up and saw it was from a man about his age with a large mole in the middle of his forehead. He’d been so deep inside his head, he hadn’t even noticed the guy was sitting next to him. “You looked like you needed one,” the man said. He held up his own shot glass. “Cheers.”
; “Thanks,” Daniel said. He toasted the man, his words wobbly. He tipped his head and downed the liquor. Even though it had been tequila—he usually couldn’t even stand to smell the stuff—he didn’t so much as wince.
He’d had a lot to drink.
Way too much.
But at this point he didn’t care.
He needed to unfurl the knots in his stomach.
Suzie.
He couldn’t stop seeing her face. Rachel’s. He wished he’d done things differently. Rachel had trusted him, and he’d been wrong. He knew he’d never be able to forgive himself.
He’d told Gail that he would go on record. That he was going to help in any way he could to get Respira off the market until proper safety testing could be conducted. Gail said she would call him again tomorrow to talk about their next steps.
Gail. He had so much more to tell her. And he was going to tell her everything. Everything that—
He lost his train of thought.
He peered down at his drink. He was staring at it when a large pair of hands appeared in front of him. He looked up to see the bartender. “It’s last call.”
What? But it was just the afternoon a few minutes ago.
He looked around. All but one of the tables flanking the bar was empty. In the distance, a band was tearing down. He picked up his phone to see the time. It was late. He must have lost track of time.
The bartender lingered.
“How much do I owe you?” Daniel said, reaching into his wallet to pull out some money.
“You have a tab going. I’ll just close it out.”
“Okay. But put one more on it. I’ll drink it fast.”
Bad things, Daniel.
Daniel wondered how the hell the voice could still be awake after everything he’d drunk.
You’re really screwing up, you know.
“Shut the hell up,” Daniel seethed.
“Sorry?” the bartender asked.
Daniel looked up at the young man. His head was cocked, and his brows were knitted together.
“Oh, nothing. Just thinking out loud,” Daniel said, chagrined that he was starting to get more and more mixed up between the voice and his own voice.
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