Viral

by Robin Cook

  As suddenly as Juliette had begun crying, she stopped and disengaged herself from Brian’s embrace. She regained her seat and spoke up for the first time: “When will Mommy come home from the hospital?”

  “Honey, I told you she won’t be coming home,” Brian said. “She’s with Jesus and Grandpa in heaven.”

  Instead of asking any more questions, Juliette lunged for the TV remote, and this time Brian let her have it. In the next instant the happy, melodious soundtrack of Pinkalicious & Peterrific filled the room, especially after Juliette raised the volume. Aimée stood up and tried to give Juliette a reassuring hug, but Juliette resisted, preferring to keep the TV in view.

  “Your daddy is right.” Aimée spoke loud enough to be heard over the TV. “We’re all here for you, so you are safe even if your mommy had to go to heaven.”

  Camila then followed suit and got the same lack of response from Juliette. The three adults exchanged a glance and a shrug, communicating that there apparently wasn’t anything else to do for the moment. Juliette had been told, even if she didn’t want to believe it for the time being.

  For several minutes Brian just stood there leaning against the sink, looking at his daughter and mother, and thinking about his mother-in-law’s reaction while his mind flip-flopped between disjointed thoughts and emotions about Heather Williams, Charles Kelley, and Emma. Focusing on Emma, he found himself questioning if it could possibly be true that she was gone forever. Or equally as disturbing: Would she still be alive if he’d insisted somehow on her staying in the hospital? How responsible was he for having let it happen?

  Brian felt a new wave of emotion well up inside of him, which he hardly thought would be appropriate to display in his daughter’s presence. Pushing away from the kitchen counter in hopes of having a moment alone, he left the room and headed for the home office. For the time being he’d let Aimée and Camila bear the burden of comforting Juliette.

  Seated at the large partner’s desk positioned under a chandelier, Brian made it a point not to look across at Emma’s empty seat. Instead, he woke up his sleeping monitor to go over finances in a vain attempt to rein in his emotions. With Emma gone, he’d need to seriously think about the viability of Personal Protection LLC and whether it would survive now without her input and partnership. Then, with surprise, he found himself wondering if he should investigate the possibility of trying to reverse his retirement and get his old NYPD ESU job back. Under his current circumstances the idea of a guaranteed salary, decent health benefits, and pension plan had enormous appeal.

  In the middle of such thinking, the business landline started to ring. Hoping it meant someone was in need of security, Brian snatched up the phone. To his dismay it wasn’t a prospective client, but rather a Premier Collections agent. With an irritatingly high-pitched voice, the individual launched into a rapid threatening tirade, saying that if Brian didn’t immediately offer an acceptable plan for paying off his $189,375.86 debt, his credit rating was going to be trashed, making it impossible for him to get a credit card, any kind of loan, or a mortgage.

  In his hyperemotional state, Brian lost control, telling the caller to go fuck himself. He then slammed the phone down with such force it caused a portion of the handset to pop off. For a split second Brian scanned the desk’s surface for something else to destroy, but the urge quickly passed. Then the phone rang again. This time Brian didn’t answer it. Knowing what he did about collection agencies, he was aware that he was destined to be pestered relentlessly. It was the name of the game.

  Letting the phone ring, he pulled up his online banking account and looked at the balances. Things were hardly looking rosy, especially with the thought of an upcoming funeral. He really had no idea what kind of money would be involved, and he wondered selfishly how much his in-laws, the O’Briens, might be willing to shoulder following Hannah’s offer. Unfortunately, he knew that he would soon be finding out answers to these questions. Finally, the phone stopped ringing, and except for the distant sounds of the PBS cartoon coming from the kitchen, the room returned to silence. The one thing the call did do was remind him that he was indeed being sued, meaning he needed to do something before his time limit to respond to the complaint ran out. The specter of losing the house loomed in the back of his mind. He could not let that happen for a number of reasons, chief of which was Juliette. Losing her mother was going to create a terrible insecurity, and losing her home on top and the familiarity of her room would just add immensely to the impact.

  “All right, that’s it,” he said out loud. Pulling out his phone for a Google search, he typed in “Patrick McCarthy.” He needed a lawyer, expense be damned, and with Grady recommending him, Patrick seemed like a good risk to take, especially with him being part of the community.

  To his surprise, the lawyer answered on the second ring, making Brian wonder if that was a positive or a negative sign. He’d fully expected having to talk with either a secretary or leave a message. For a moment, Brian was caught off guard, but that changed as soon as he introduced himself.

  “I know you,” Patrick said. “Wasn’t your father chief of police?”

  “He was,” Brian confirmed. “Commander of the 34th Precinct.”

  “I know your sister as well. We were in the same grade. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, I’m being sued for almost two hundred thousand dollars by MMH Inwood,” Brian said. He liked the sound of Patrick’s voice, as it conveyed a sense of confidence.

  “That, unfortunately, is a familiar story.”

  “Really?” Brian was still a bit surprised to hear that. “Have you handled many such cases?”

  “Quite a few,” Patrick said. “Especially lately with the pandemic. Have you been served?”

  “Just this morning, by Grady Quillen.”

  “Then we have thirty days to respond,” Patrick said. “When would you like to get together?”

  “As soon as possible.” Knowing himself as a man of action, Brian needed to be active to keep from being overwhelmed by Emma’s passing and worry about losing the house.

  “I could see you as early as tomorrow. Would that work for you?”

  “Absolutely,” Brian said. “The earlier the better.”

  “I could be here at the office at seven-thirty. Is that too early for you?”

  “That would be fine,” Brian said. He thought the chances he’d be able to sleep very much that night were slim.

  “I’ll see you then,” Patrick confirmed. “Bring your service papers, of course. And also a mask. I require it in my office.”

  “No problem,” Brian said. He liked hearing that Patrick was sticking to appropriate Covid-19 pandemic rules.

  “My office is at 5030 Broadway,” Patrick said. “I don’t have a secretary, so when you get here in the morning, call me, and I’ll come down and let you in.”

  “I look forward to meeting you,” Brian said before disconnecting.

  CHAPTER 17

  September 1

  As he had expected, Brian found sleep almost impossible that night. Even with the sleep medication, which he felt guilty taking since it had been prescribed for Emma, he spent most of the night wandering the house with his mind in turmoil. On multiple occasions he found himself looking in on Juliette. Each time he found her asleep, holding on to Bunny and looking peaceful. He was impressed the child seemed to have weathered the news with more equanimity than he had anticipated, which relieved him to a degree. He gave full credit to the grandmothers, both of whom had spent the rest of the day and evening with her. They’d even taken her out for a walk in her beloved Isham Park and then on to the Church of the Good Shepherd to light a devotional candle for Emma. When Aimée had told Brian of the plan, he’d rolled his eyes at the idea of resorting to ritual with a four-year-old, yet the episode seemed to have soothed Juliette considerably, making him wonder if he should rethink the role of religion in his and Ju
liette’s life. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that what was holding him together at the moment was his responsibility to his daughter to make sure she could navigate this emotional sea of losing her mother.

  By seven a.m., with Juliette and Camila still sleeping, Brian prepared to leave the house. He wrote a note for Camila and texted Aimée to let her know where he was. He then collected the papers Grady had served him from the home office.

  One of the many beauties of living in Inwood was how close everything was. Because the neighborhood was only a little more than a square mile, with a third of it forest-covered parkland, everything was within walking distance, in particular the commercial establishments along Broadway. Brian’s route took him down the West 215th Street double stairway, a unique Inwood landmark that played a fond role in his childhood.

  When he reached Patrick McCarthy’s building, which was one of the few multistoried modern commercial structures in Inwood, he followed Patrick’s directions and called to be let in. As he did so, he briefly questioned what it might mean if the lawyer wasn’t successful enough to have a secretary, but he let the thought go when he saw Patrick get off the elevator and approach. He was impressive-looking and younger than Brian expected. He was tall, maybe even close to Charles Kelley’s height.

  “Welcome,” Patrick said as he opened the door. His voice in person was more confident sounding than it had been on the phone.

  As Brian passed by the man on his way inside, he did feel an immediate if minor bond. Like him, Patrick had dark, almost black hair with blue eyes.

  “I appreciate you being willing to come in person despite the pandemic,” Patrick said as they walked back to the elevator. “I think it is important for us to literally see eye to eye if we are going to work together. Besides, I need the papers you were served, which I see you have brought.” Brian handed them over as they got into the elevator.

  As they rode up to the fourth floor, Patrick leafed through the papers while Brian gave a capsule history of Emma’s illness, hospitalization, and then death the day before. That news took Patrick by surprise. “I’m so sorry,” he said with real empathy. “You are being sued for several hundred thousand dollars and you’ve lost your wife. What a terrible combination.”

  “I lost my wife and my business partner,” he added.

  “I’m in awe that you are able to function so soon after your loss.”

  “I suppose I’m still in denial, if I’m being honest,” Brian said. “I’m also a very active person. It’s always been difficult for me to sit around under any circumstances.”

  Inside Patrick’s office, which was singularly spartan, Brian sat in one of two metal folding chairs while Patrick lowered himself into in an aged desk chair behind a metal desk. The only other furniture was a small bookcase and a file cabinet. The décor was hardly suggestive of a lucrative practice. The only hint of it being the twenty-first century was an iMac, keyboard, and mouse on the desk.

  “Well, I will answer the complaint, and we will get a court date,” Patrick offered as he aligned the court papers by tapping them on the desk before carefully laying them down in front of himself. Looking directly at Brian, he said, “I have to be up front with you. We’ve got an uphill battle here.”

  “When Grady served me, and, by the way, he gave you a good recommendation, he said you had tried to help his neighbor Nolan O’Reilly, but that things hadn’t worked out.”

  “That’s an understatement, but we tried our best.”

  “That’s not a very good advertisement,” Brian said, hoping for some reassurance that his situation would be different.

  “I can understand why you might feel that way. As I said, it is an uphill battle, and I’ll tell you why. Judges are, more often than not, forced to rule in the hospital’s favor because services have been rendered and everyone had been forced under duress of the admission process to sign a form that they will be responsible for the bill. Plus, the hospitals can charge whatever they damn well please without telling the patient or the family anything beforehand.”

  “I can attest to that,” Brian said with a short, mirthless laugh. “But I would like to know if my case is significantly different than the O’Reillys’, since there’d been a summary judgment involved in theirs.”

  “I’m sorry, but because of attorney–client confidentiality rules, I can’t discuss the details of other cases. I hope you understand.”

  “I suppose,” Brian said. He didn’t think merely confirming a summary judgment would be a violation, but he let it go. “Have you had a lot of experience with this kind of case?”

  “Tons of experience, unfortunately. I’ve got more than twenty open cases right now.”

  “Similar to mine?”

  “Strikingly so,” Patrick confirmed. “MMH Inwood has been suing many families for outstanding hospital bills, particularly since the Covid-19 pandemic began.”

  “Have you had some cases where the outcome is a bit better than the O’Reillys’? Grady told me they even lost their house.”

  “Absolutely,” Patrick said. “Rest assured, I’ve had many with a significantly better outcome.”

  “Okay, that’s encouraging. To be honest, my biggest concern is losing my house.”

  “Understandable,” Patrick said with sympathy. “Are you up to date with your mortgage payments?”

  “No,” he admitted, feeling a jolt of fear. “Does that make a difference?”

  “I’m afraid it does.” Patrick raised his eyebrows. “With the New York State Homestead Act, a home is protected in a bankruptcy filing, but not if the home is in arrears on the mortgage.”

  “Shit,” Brian responded. “It’s only been a couple of months’ lapse because of the pandemic.”

  “If you can possibly manage it, I’d strongly recommend bringing it up to date as soon as you can.”

  “The bank is aware why I’ve not paid,” Brian said. “I’ve certainly been in contact with them, and they actually encouraged it. My wife and I started a new security business at the worst possible time: the middle of December, just before the pandemic hit. We’d been trying to preserve our cash to hold the business together.”

  “I understand, but I’m sure the other side will try to exploit it. So, if you can, I’d bring it up to date.”

  They then spent a few minutes talking about Patrick’s fees, which he agreed to put off after an initial, modest retainer of five hundred dollars. “Believe me, I can understand your situation,” Patrick said. “We’re all in it, thanks to this pandemic. You can pay me the balance when your company gets back to providing you with an income.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Brian said, thankful and pleased. He felt strongly that such trust was yet another benefit of living in this community.

  “Okay,” Patrick said, placing both his hands flat on top of Brian’s papers. “I’ll take care of these with the court immediately. Meanwhile, I’ll need to get the hospital bill. Have you been given one?”

  Brian let out a short, disgusted laugh. “With effort I got one, but it’s useless. The damn thing is in code. I can’t make sense of nine-tenths of it.”

  “That leads me to another question. Have you considered retaining a medical billing advocate?”

  “It’s interesting that you ask. My mother asked the same question. I’d never even heard of a medical billing advocate.”

  “It is a sign of the times,” Patrick said. “Many hospitals have become so rapacious because they are being driven by private equity people to maximize profit, and one way to camouflage it is to make the billing process as incomprehensible as possible.”

  “How might a billing advocate help my case?”

  “He or she would go over your bill with a fine-toothed comb. They understand the confusing language and invariably find all sorts of mistakes and overcharges. Sometimes they alone can reduce the bill by half or more.
”

  “Who would have thought it would come to this?” Brian said, throwing up his hands in amazement. “It’s so damn ironic. Hospitals are supposed to save people, not cheat them.”

  “As I said, it is a sign of the times. The US Congress has been asleep at the wheel, allowing medical costs to go through the roof. And it’s across the board: hospital prices, drug prices, or device prices like artificial joints—it’s all the same.”

  “So you recommend I find an advocate?”

  “Very strongly recommend it,” Patrick said. “Even if it is yet another expense for you.”

  “Do you have anyone specific you recommend?”

  “I do. There’s one right here in this building who is excellent in my experience. She’s helped me on a number of cases. Her name is Megan Doyle, and she also went to PS 98 like we did.”

  “Megan Doyle,” Brian repeated. “She’s actually the one my mother mentioned. She said she’d helped a neighbor.”

  “I’m not surprised. Megan has helped a lot of people.”

  “Do you have her contacts by chance?”

  “I can do better than that,” Patrick said. “I could give her a shout right here and now. It’s better to start the process ASAP because she’d need to get a complete copy of your hospital record, and hospitals are not cooperative with billing advocates to say the least. In fact, they make it as difficult as possible, creating all sorts of hoops and delays that have to be navigated.”

  “I already have a hospital bill, which I could provide her,” Brian offered.

  “She’ll get a better, significantly more complete one,” Patrick said. “Mark my words. The bills a hospital gives to patients are never broken down like she’ll demand. Should I call her? She’ll need to see you to start the process.”

  “Do you think she’d see me now while I’m here?”

  “I believe she will. This wouldn’t be the first time she’s helped a client of mine.”