by Barbara Ebel
When Danny finished, Paula Branson was whisked into the room. She was one of the reasons he had come, knowing she had another research appointment so they could chart more data.
“Dr. Tilson, what a surprise,” she said. “Had I known you were coming, I would have worn a much finer outfit.” She raked her hair with one hand and flashed her teeth.
Danny motioned for her to sit. “Your clothing is very becoming, Ms. Branson, no need to worry about it.”
Without looking down, she unbuttoned her leather jacket to more adequately reveal a pencil skirt. She also wore stilettos and he pictured her walking Broadway on a Friday night sparking crude remarks from male bystanders.
“Well … thank you. This isn’t a real doctor’s kind of visit, is it? In other words, can you drop the formality of what you all call a doctor-patient relationship? It can be better than that, you know.” She leaned forward, her hands on her knees.
“This is medically-related, Ms. Branson, and it will stay that way. Please, this is serious.”
She raised her brows. “No problem.”
“You have heard all the media coverage of Blue Bridge, haven’t you?”
“Unfortunately.” She frowned. “I love that drink. It’s like shooting up, you know?”
“No, I don’t know. Have you stockpiled it?”
“See? You do think like me. Maybe we’re soul mates.”
Danny slid his chair a few inches away and his mouth twisted in disgust.
“Ms. Branson, if you have a large supply of Blue Bridge - for your medical safety - please get rid of it. And I want you to stop drinking them. Such as - over the next week - halve your consumption each day until you don’t drink any more. That will let this feedback loop adjust more safely. We have to allow for the brain’s normal supply of something called VEGF to reestablish itself. It’s complicated. But the brain must not be cut off from the synthetic compound too quickly.”
“I trust you but I don’t see the need …”
Danny cut her off. “Ms. Branson, I have had three other patients like you all drinking Blue Bridge,” he fired off. “Because of it, one of them had a stroke but is luckily alive, one of them is in the ICU in a coma, and one of them is dead. And these are only my patients. This is going on all over.”
The flirtatious grin disappeared and she straightened up. Her eagle eyesight locked onto him. “Okay. Okay. I will do what you suggest.”
“Good. And I want you to call the office tomorrow and make an appointment for one week.” He stood up and started to leave.
“Doctor Tilson,” she called out. “Do you think I’ll be alright?”
He stood still, pondering. “Yes, I bet you will. And I’ll say a prayer for you.”
-----
For the first time since Rachel had worked at Max-Point Realtors, things were calmed down enough that she didn’t go into the office. Money still trickled in from the tail end of orders purchased with credit cards and now she didn’t have advertising bills or staff salaries to worry about.
She stood on the main floor of her apartment, the gorgeous sunlight streaming in, warming her mood and her skin as she smiled gloriously at her new furniture the delivery truck had just left. She had asked the landlord to remove the rented furniture and had picked out pricey, contemporary pieces from a reputable downtown Nashville store.
In comfy sweatpants, Rachel sat down Indian style and ran her hand along the cream-colored Italian leather sofa. Soft as butter, she marveled. She got up and admired the low wood and Italian stone coffee table. Her place was now amazing like Leo’s bachelor pad was. And he won’t be using his swanky place anymore, she thought; he got what he deserved and is going to the slammer. No nice furniture there.
She ate lunch standing at the kitchen counter, still contemplating the new look all around her. When she finished and rinsed her dishes, she dressed warm and ran outside to the mail box, pulling out a handful of envelopes and junk catalogs. Curious about two large manila packets, she glanced at the return addresses. Both law firms: one in Nashville and one in St. Louis, Missouri.
Inside, she ripped open the envelope from a local firm. She was well aware of all her own legal matters stemming from Knoxville and previous dealings with Danny’s attorney, but this one definitely had nothing to do with those issues. It took her a moment to register the multi-page document in her hand … a lawsuit against Energeta.
Her pulse quickened. She had no idea who the individual listed as the plaintiff was. The hair on her arms rose as she breezed through the papers, catching the buzz words “… damages which include being partially paralyzed … due to a stroke … as a result of consuming the defendant’s drink, Blue Bridge …”
Before the last page of signature lines, she froze at what she considered the ‘meat’ of the lawsuit. The plaintiff was seeking five-million dollars for damages claiming his inability to further work at his profession and, therefore, causing future loss of income. In addition, they had tacked on three-million dollars for pain and suffering.
Rachel took a deep breath, trying to shake off the nasty paperwork in her hands. Really - actually, she thought – it was Varg’s company. But the longer she thought about it, she admitted to herself that was just denial. She was now legally very responsible for the company and that made her angry.
Gritting her teeth, she slapped the documents on the counter and tore open the envelope from the fancy-named firm in St. Louis.
“Uh-oh,” she stammered, looking at Energeta named as the defendant in yet another lawsuit. Her hand swiped over her brow; she could swear she was sweating. The ominous damages were the death of a teenager caused by “an irresponsible, addictive, deadly drink marketed to customers who seek a healthier lifestyle but are massively deceived by flamboyant advertising and untrue claims of advanced mental powers.” Her mind reeled at the staggering figure the family proposed as a settlement: Ten-million dollars.
Rachel fanned her face, turned around and poured a cold glass of water. Her heart pounded like a drum. Wouldn’t these people just love to know that Varg was also suffering from this drink? That they weren’t the only ones.
She swallowed a big gulp and noticed a standard-sized white envelope. It, too, had a legal return address – from Birmingham, Alabama. Slipping out the thinner documents, she noted the clarity and succinctness of this lawsuit; expertly done. Rachel didn’t bother to look at the claims, just the demands for ‘remedy.’ This one was cheap … only two and a half million dollars.
Chapter 34
Tuesday through Thursday, Rachel frantically laid out instruments on operating room tables before each of her surgery assignments. But it wasn’t easy since her mind was cramped with problems, distracting her from her work. An ENT doc asked for a simple ‘hemostat,’ an orthopedic surgeon requested a lap sponge, and an ophthalmologist needed a clamp. Each time, she was empty-handed, her tray table devoid of what was needed – and the possibility of losing this job came to mind. Grateful to get away from it, she went into Max-Point Realtors on Friday but that was far from fun either.
The mail arrived earlier than usual, souring the last sip of mocha cappuccino she had left. Today brought two new lawsuits to Energeta, both filed from out of state. Stupid people, she thought. How could they have swallowed something like an energy drink in such voluminous amounts? How could they believe such flimsy claims as to its miracle properties and drink it like a child is supposed to drink milk? And what was she supposed to do about their now altered lives? Their death sentences or their handicaps? She didn’t make them drink it! If they had a will of their own, they got what they deserved.
Rachel did wish, however, that Varg hadn’t been addicted to his own product. She wouldn’t be in this pickle jar; maybe wouldn’t even be the main company officer if that were the case. But he was off in some nursing place where his sister was sitting bedside for a few hours each day. He should have just written Mary Ann into the company’s assets and removed Rachel from the picture after she had giv
en him brilliant ideas on marketing and advertising; he could have stolen her ideas and dumped her. If the shoe were on the other foot, it’s what she would have done.
But, now, the bookkeeper said the company was in the red so how would she deal with these lawsuits? Some of them even wanted to dig into the owner’s personal assets. She closed her eyes and, for a second, pictured herself homeless … living in a car. The idea took flight as she picked up the phone and called Varg’s attorney.
“We’ve been served more lawsuits,” she said irately. “Varg Dagmar’s sister wanted ownership, or my position in the company. Why don’t we give it to her?”
“Nice try,” he replied. “But calm down, Ms. Hendersen. You do have a way out here.”
“And what might that be?”
“Energeta will file for bankruptcy.”
“Oh …” Rachel’s posture straightened. “So paint a clearer picture.”
“Based on what you’ve told me - and on what the doctors would testify to - the company and the drink are guilty of what the lawsuits are claiming. So there’s no way to win all of them. But, with Chapter 11 bankruptcy, a small business can restructure and eliminate debts.”
At first, Rachel bit her lower lip … but then she smacked her lips to her fingertips and blew a kiss into the air.
“Okay, let’s go with it. Since Varg was a brilliant man, I’m assuming you’re one crackerjack attorney and you’ll do a proper job of it.”
“I’ll do my best, but one more thing. There are a lot of lawsuits that need responses. I will have to separate out attorneys to make a team; an ‘Energeta’ team. I know you personally had a nice windfall from the drink but your legal bills are going to consume all of that.”
“Then maybe I can send you some of our stored Blue Bridge to boost your energy level. You can get your country-latrine lawyers to zip through those responses!”
When they hung up, Rachel breathed a tad bit easier knowing there was bankruptcy as the company’s solution. Yet her heart skipped a beat when she noticed the note she’d left herself to call Phil Beckett who’d left a voicemail message.
“Mr. Beckett,” she said after a receptionist got him on the line.
“Ms. Hendersen, I hope you’re sitting down,” he said bluntly.
“Listen to me first. I’m swamped with lawsuits from Nashville, all to do with a company I’ve been involved with. Actually, it got dumped on me. You’re my private attorney and I don’t want to hear one bad thing coming from you out of Knoxville!”
The silence was deafening as Phil waited a minute before he responded. “You better hear it from me first.”
“What?”
“Kirk Thompson, the prosecutor, has a date set and it’s official. The charges against you – those of not reporting your daughter’s abuse and your blackmailing a child abuser so you would keep quiet - are going to a grand jury.”
“How is it that I did a citizen’s duty and testified against Leo, the scum bag, and I ended up having my own legal problems? Whose side are you on anyway?”
She disconnected. He probably had the paperwork in the mail already, she thought, so it wasn’t like she was going to miss the details.
-----
On the way to the gym, the intermittent windshield wipers swept across the front window as Danny and Casey waited at a red light. Masses of heavy clouds had swept in from the west bringing a fine sleet, the roads were slick, and temperatures were supposed to drop below freezing.
Danny sat in the front passenger’s seat, shaking his head. “I don’t mind this cold snap at all; I’m just glad we’re past tornado season. I hadn’t realized how wary I’d become of storm clouds. Maybe I’ll shake that feeling by next summer.”
The light changed and Casey drove through the intersection. He glanced over at his friend and said, “I’m not in your shoes but your experience may have been more traumatic than you thought.”
“It’s not something I’m going to forget and it actually is a defining point for this whole year. I think of events taking place ‘before the twister’ or ‘after the twister.’
The precipitation slowed down so Casey turned off the wipers. “I think you’ve changed,” he said, giving Danny a cautious look.
“Maybe more introspective.” He bit the inside of his lip. “And I contemplate the existence of a God a lot.”
Casey eased his foot back on the brake. “That wasn’t your only life-altering event either. Losing Melissa was another one.”
“For sure. It doesn’t get any worse than losing a child.” He pictured his oldest daughter who had died at seventeen, already five years ago. As he turned on the defrost to clear the fogged windows, a sadness washed over him.
“Actually,” Danny added, “there’s another one. A thorn in my side.”
Casey turned into a parking spot. “I’m glad you finally recognize it. I can take the words out of your mouth.”
“Yes, a pre-Rachel and a post-Rachel existence.” Both men laughed and walked into the gym.
-----
As Danny and Casey strolled to the counter, they glanced through the glass doors of the refrigerators.
“I’m glad to see that,” Danny said, picking up the pen to sign in.
“Yes, how about that?” Casey remarked.
“How about what?” Katarina asked.
Danny nodded over to the wall. “Not a can of Blue Bridge to be had. Excellent job.”
“Whatever,” she said, smoothing out the patch of blue hair over her forehead. “I read you were the major force behind it, too.” She lowered her face into her hands. “I’m missing Rob. He can’t work at being a trainer anymore. A family member only brought him in yesterday to clear out his locker. I’m glad I never drank that stuff.”
“I am, too,” Danny said. He stepped aside for Casey.
“Casey Hamilton. You didn’t drink it, either, right?”
“No. I’m too much of a water fan.” He winked at her. “Now it’s time to whip my buddy into his routine.”
They turned, hung up their jackets and went over to the aerobic machines. Danny flexed his biceps. “Hey, did I ever thank you for forcefully suggesting I start working out?”
“Nope. Though your body has amazingly improved, I doubt an ambulance driver will get any thanks.”
“You’re probably right.”
-----
Rachel picked up Julia after Danny had taken her to an early mass. She thoughtfully read her a book while cuddled close on her new sofa. It gave her a respite from the problems swimming around in her brain but it only lasted a few minutes. Both of them didn’t have the patience to latch onto another story.
Julia went over to an area rug and began playing with two stuffed animals, pretending to feed them the cheerios she had in a bowl.
As Rachel stared out the sliding door, she thought the weather was the same dreary continuance from the day before. She wished it were nicer outside so they could take a walk as a diversionary tactic from her gargantuan problems. But she was accepting the reality of her situation more and more; she was in big trouble. When she turned around and saw her plush new furniture, she frowned. Had I known of my impending financial problems, she thought, I wouldn’t have bought it all.
She looked at Julia. Rachel loved her daughter but – right now – she really needed her back in the big picture. Permanently.
“Sweetie, come on over to the coffee table. I’ll light our candles and Mommy will talk to you.”
-----
After getting back together, selling the house, and making changes to the Tilson home, Danny and Sara had not had any special time together. So Danny took his first week of vacation since becoming head of the practice and also since the turmoil that had been caused by Varg and Rachel’s energy drink; he hoped he’d never see a supernatural brain collateral circulation again.
Sara had no problem with her request for time off, her five-day leave to be filled in by a substitute teacher.
They didn’t care that
the weather was chilly, damp and overcast; the lake looked splendid. It was still and smooth, not a motor boat or fisherman on it. The leaves had fallen from the trees, making a dense forest carpet, and it gave them a better perspective of the hilly geography. The cabin was a perfect getaway nest.
A small fire crackled in the fireplace, the first time Danny had used it, and he could barely notice the aroma from Sara’s hair. She burrowed into the corner of the couch, her legs curled up alongside her, and Danny rested his hand on her thigh.
“I wonder if Annabel has been back out here with that David fellow,” he said.
She looked at him, surprised. “I don’t think so. Not after we got that issue resolved. Basically, I believe we can trust her. And, if she ever wants to do that again, she’ll ask our permission.”
“I think you’re right.” Danny chuckled as he got up, grabbed a log from a small pile of wood, and stoked the fire.
“I wanted to give the hearth new life,” he said, sitting down again next to her.
She smiled. “New life? I was going to tell you today.”
“What?”
“Danny … I’m pregnant.”
-END-
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Steven W. Cooper, M.D. who inspired me with the prayer sign hanging in his waiting room.
From the Author
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Barbara Ebel is an author and a physician. Since she practiced anesthesia, she brings credibility to the medical background of her plots. She lives with her husband and pets in a wildlife corridor in Tennessee and has lived up and down the East Coast.
The following books are also written by Barbara Ebel and are available as paperbacks and as eBooks:
The Dr. Danny Tilson Series: Available as individual books as well as a Box Set: