Silent Epidemic (Book 1 - Carol Freeman Series)

by Jill Province

  The final paperwork would begin the process of prosecuting Dominex Pharmaceuticals for legal and ethical violations.  Since the denial was a shorter process, it would be received by Dominex within five working days.  The new FDA requirement and the notice of disciplinary action would take longer.  David didn’t care. The denial was good enough for now. 

  Finishing the paperwork, David carried the packet to his secretary.  “This goes to the U.S. Attorney General’s office," he said, handing her the last two forms. “I’ll take care of this part myself."  Dominex’s refusal and the recommendation for the new FDA requirement would be handled internally.   

  Manning trotted down the hall to the elevator, and punched the button for the second floor.  The denial papers had to be stamped with an official FDA seal, and then processed by the Food and Drug approval department.  A letter would then be generated to the company that had submitted the request for approval.  In this case, it would be a letter of refutation.  There would be no extended research option and no stipulation on the existing product for the company to comply with.  No adjustments, no contingencies.  A flat denial.  

  David was elated.  He spent the rest of the day walking his papers through the process.  At the end of this long paper trail David would fill out one last form.  He would finally be able to give his two-week notice and begin the happy road to his retirement.  He was ready.  This had been a very difficult last year.

     

  * * * * * * * * * * *

   

  Michelle Roman signed the last page of the mini novel that made up the thick divorce packet.  She had never read so many “wherefore”s and “here in”s.  The whole thing was gibberish to her, but she knew what the bottom line was.  She was free of her biggest past mistake. 

  Sitting across the desk from her was the future mistake she fully intended to avoid.  His presence filled the entire room, along with an intoxicating aftershave that was making her crazy.  “Are we done?" she asked nervously, handing the papers back to her attorney. 

  “As far as the business part of this visit.  Now we really do have something to celebrate."  

  Michelle shifted in her chair and wondered how in the hell to get out of Mark Randall’s office without getting into an in-depth conversation about his apparent tendency towards infidelity. 

  “I really do have to go," she said awkwardly and stood to leave. 

  “Michelle, what is bothering you?" Mark said, as he grabbed her hand to stop her in midflight.  She was trapped.  She sat back down reluctantly, avoiding eye contact.  “You have been avoiding me for weeks," he continued.

  “What gave you that idea?" she said, cringing at her lame response. 

  “I don’t know," he answered humorously.  “Maybe it has something to do with the fact that every time I mention getting together, you practically hang up on me." 

  “I don’t…" 

  “Michelle," he interrupted.  “Tell me what is bothering you."  

  She met his glance and took a deep breath. 

  “Okay, here it is," she announced.  “I have been through hell." 

  “No doubt," he interjected.  

  Michelle held up her hand to stop him. 

  “No, let me finish.  I have made stupid choices because I’m such a romantic idiot."  She paused, waiting to find the courage to finish her thought while he continued to stare at her.  “And even though I am definitely attracted to you, I can’t make another stupid choice." 

  “I’m confused," Mark said.  “How would going out with me be a stupid choice?"  

  Michelle looked at him as though he had just slapped her. 

  “What?" he responded defensively. 

  “Hold out your left hand," she commanded.  

  Mark obeyed, and held out his left hand.  

  “What’s that?" she asked, pointing to his ring finger.

  All at once, his expression changed from total confusion to one of relief.  “Oh this," he said, and started laughing.  Michelle looked at him, trying not to smile as he continued to laugh at her.  After he composed himself he announced, “This is my protection." 

  “Your what?" she asked incredulously. 

  “My protection.  You can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to be a divorce lawyer.  I have newly divorced and desperate women coming at me every day." 

  “Sounds painful," she said sarcastically. 

  “No, I mean it."  He was no longer laughing.  “It’s absolutely terrifying to find yourself suddenly alone."  Michelle nodded her understanding.  “I am the first single male person these women come in contact with.  I am their first hope for salvation and they are not rational people, believe me."

  “Did you say that you are the first single male they come in contact with?"

  “That’s what I said.” 

  “And it’s true?" she asked in amazement. 

  “Cross my heart," he said, making the gesture with his right hand.   

  “So, what you’re telling me, Mark Randall, is that I have spent weeks obsessing about a problem that didn’t even exist?" 

  “Does this mean that you’ll go out with me?" he asked evasively. 

  “I guess so," she said, feeling her indignant stature melting away. 

  “Now?"  He came around the desk to meet her. 

  “You‘re pushing your luck," she said, trying to remain annoyed at the situation. 

  “Great, I’m done here today and I know a great place to have dinner," he said taking her arm.  Just before they made it to the door, she reached over with her free hand and punched his arm.  “Ouch!  What was that for?"

  “That’s for making me think you were married," she said, hitting him one last time.  “And don’t be a baby. You got off light." 

     

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

   

  It was almost dark outside when Charles Roman awoke from his drunken stupor.  He peered through the open blinds to see the last sliver of sun behind the treetops.   The hot afternoon had given way to a cooler and beautiful southern dusk.  All was quiet around him.  Atlanta commuters had long since completed their evening battle with the brutal traffic and were home in front of their TVs eating dinner. 

  The building had been cleared out for some time.  No one had wanted to disturb the sleeping CEO and, in fact, things were calmer these days when he was “unavailable.”  He sat up and ran his hands through his rumpled hair.  His suit was a mess and he looked as though he had been asleep in it for a week.  Groaning, he got up to find a river to drink.  He was totally dehydrated and a little queasy from the afternoon’s binge.  He finished two large glasses of water before he noticed the envelope with the note attached to it sitting on his desk.

  Here is a copy of the final papers.  Your wife agreed to everything.  The original copy went to her attorney’s office this afternoon.  Congratulations - you’re a free man. 

   Charles read the note twice, trying to merge both sets of words into one.  Sitting down heavily, he let out a long breath.  It was really over.  He felt terrible, although he really wasn’t sure why.  He had never actually loved her.  Hell, he really didn’t have a clue as to what the word even meant.  She had provided him with an attractive finished product, sort of like a nice accessory.  I guess what bothers me the most is that she was the one who ended it.

  It hadn’t been his idea.  He had not been in control.  For the first time, he had to admit that someone else had been the stronger and more confident one in the encounter.  “Hell,” he announced to no one.  “She’s not the only thing that’s been beating my ass into the ground lately.”  Charles knew that his drinking had gotten way out of hand.  He didn’t feel too much remorse about having an “emotional drop off.”  But doing it in front of his colleagues and subordinates was another matter.  Charles picked up the bottle of scotch
he had been drinking that afternoon and carried it to the sink.  He was going to be fine, he thought, as he poured out the remaining fluid down the drain.  He had never been without female companionship.  Now he wouldn’t have to sneak around in motel rooms. Women would still be attracted to his position and his power.  Charles straightened out his tie and his posture.  With aching head held high he left the building, a new man.

     

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Tuesday morning, bright and early, the mailroom clerk punched in for his workday.  Everyone had to start at the bottom, he was told at his interview two weeks earlier.  But James Douglas was not a mailroom flunky.  He was a Dominex Pharmaceuticals employee that was temporarily on assignment at the FDA’s office.  He was there to screen the mail and any other occurrence that might be related to the company’s interest.

  He had not been expected to do anything for the past two weeks except get oriented to the building and become a familiar face.  Technically, today was his second day on alert.  The study data had been turned in on the previous Friday.  He had reported the unexpected visit by Dominex’s beloved Sheila Montgomery. They had not seemed happy about this information and told him to continue monitoring any other interesting traffic. 

  James began sorting through the outgoing mail as he had done every morning.  There were two envelopes that caught his attention.  One was addressed to Dominex Pharmaceuticals, the other to the United States General Attorney’s office.  He normally wouldn’t have flagged the second piece of mail, except that it was being sent directly from David Manning, and on the same day as the other related matter.  He pocketed both envelopes and trotted off to deliver the in-coming mail from the previous evening.  His stack was light.  He would be free to deliver his findings by mid-morning.

  After completing his deliveries to the first two floors, James decided to take a short bathroom break.  In the privacy of the stall, he opened the first envelope that was addressed to Dominex.  After reading through the first paragraph, he let out a soft whistle.  His job here was pretty much done.  He needed to get this delivered to Sam Reynolds immediately.  Taking a gander at the second letter, he became more alarmed.  “Holy shit," he said out loud, as he exited the stall and raced out of the building.  The remaining mail did not get delivered.

  * * * * * * * * * * *

   

  Paul Pratt was reviewing the signed divorce documents when his intercom buzzed.  He glanced over at the phone with a few choice words.  He hadn’t even finished his morning coffee.  “Yes?" he answered, conveying his annoyance. 

  “Paul, it’s Sam.  You better get up here."  

  Pratt picked up the remains of his morning motivation and headed to Sam’s office. 

  The room was buzzing with the entire study team when he arrived.  Sam motioned for everyone to settle down.  This can’t be good, Pratt thought, taking the couch.  

  “We have a situation," Sam announced. 

  “We have defeat," the CEO corrected him. 

  “This letter was intended for delivery," Sam continued, holding up the battered piece of paper.  “It was brought in by our staff member this morning.”  He hesitated while everyone found a place to sit.  “It’s from the FDA and it is our official denial for Suprame."  No one said a word.  Everyone just stared at him in disbelief.  “It gets worse," Sam said.  “The denial is final.  There is no contingency." 

  “Can they do that?" Jeff asked incredulously. 

  “They just did it," Charles stated.  The room became alive with a thousand conversations.  Sam went to his desk and sat down.

  He knew that things were pretty much over.  He had not shared the contents of the other letter, because being reprimanded or even shut down by the US Attorney General’s office would have been redundant.  That is, if it had actually made it to its destination.  Dominex Pharmaceuticals, as they knew it, was officially at an end and it was due to one person.  He should have fired Sheila the moment she had stepped out of line, no matter how much Charles had defended her. 

  He waited for the noise to die down.  All he wanted now was for everyone to finish up this pointless meeting and leave him to pack up his office.  His wife had nagged him for years about his insane work schedule combined with his high blood pressure.  Well, this was her lucky day.

  “There’s no point in damage control," Pratt said loudly over the multiple conversations.  Everyone stopped in mid-sentence.  “What we need right now is a new plan, and I’d like to discuss this with Charles alone."  

  Everyone slowly shuffled out of the room.  Clearly, there was nothing left to discuss.  Charles, Sam, and Paul remained.

  “It’s over," Charles repeated and sat heavily in the nearest chair.  He looked like hell.  He was sweating profusely and his stomach was in one giant knot. 

  “What is wrong with you?" Pratt interjected, noticing his condition for the first time. 

  “I obviously picked the wrong day to stop drinking," Charles said, as he raised a shaky hand to bring his coffee cup to his mouth. 

  “You should get yourself into detox," Sam said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “and by the way - I’m really proud of you."  Charles gave him a weak smile. 

  “Right now, I think death would be an improvement," he retorted.  Sam did not have the heart to confront Charles about bringing in the Trojan horse.  His infatuation with Sheila had been the kiss of death.  

  “Hang in there," Pratt said, patting the other shoulder.  “If you want, we can deal with this whole issue later.  Believe me, there’s no rush, and this problem isn’t going anywhere." 

  “No," Charles said, “anything besides the pounding in my head is a welcome diversion.” 

  “Here," Sam offered, fishing a handful of Tylenol out of his desk.  He handed them to Charles with a glass of water.  Charles downed them both.

  “This is the drop-dead emergency plan," Pratt said, pulling up a seat next to the CEO.  “The company will have to basically start over." 

  “This time, I think we should sell real estate," Sam interjected, humorlessly. 

  “No, we’re still in the drug business," Pratt continued.  “With our current products and income, we can stay alive, but with only about a tenth of the corporation.”  Both men looked at Pratt, exhausted.  “Hey, it’s do-able, but it will require some sacrifice.  That means one-tenth the manpower and one-tenth the overhead.  This building is a giant liability, but we can rent out most of the space and use the income to rebuild.” 

  “The construction on the new building…?” Charles interjected. 

  “We write it off as a loss," Pratt explained. 

  “What about my personal assets?" Charles inquired reluctantly. 

  “That’s up to you," Pratt said, “but keep in mind that you will have a considerably smaller paycheck for a while."  

  Charles did the math in his head and groaned. 

  “I guess a smaller house wouldn’t be so bad," he sighed. 

  “Maybe your wife would like the house," Pratt offered.  “I’ll tell her attorney you had a change of heart, as long as she continues paying for it." 

  “She’d never go for it," Charles said.  “We were killing ourselves just trying to make the payments as it was."  

  “We should just sell off what we can," Sam added, including himself in that plan.

  “Now, as I understand it," Pratt continued, “all sedatives are pretty much the same.” 

  “That’s right," Sam agreed.  “The difference is too miniscule to measure.  The primary difference is how long they take to activate and how long they remain in your system.” 

  “Fine," Pratt said, “then we simply change the structure of Suprame and it becomes something else.  We won’t have to spend years developing it.  We simply change the ingredients slightly, along with the name, and resubmit it for approval.”
>
  “There’s just one problem with that," Charles interjected. “Manning.  As long as he reigns, he’ll make sure we’re out of the sedative race.” 

  “And if my sources are right," Sam said, coming alive, “his reign lasts for two more weeks." 

  “Is this true?" Charles asked. 

  “It is," Pratt agreed.  “Manning only remained on board this long to take us down.  I’m guessing his replacement will be as easy to deal with as his predecessor was.  And once we get the new drug approved, we’re back in the saddle.” 

  “In the meantime," Sam added, holding up the second letter, “this somehow got lost in the mail." 

  “You don’t think Manning will follow up on his complaint?" Charles asked. 

  “He’ll be too busy packing," Pratt said, “but we’ll keep an eye on him until he’s gone."

  “This is all good," Charles announced, getting to his feet.  “You guys can handle things for the next few days, can’t you?" 

  “Take a week," Sam offered.  “And don’t fire your driver until you get home." 

  “Good idea," Charles said, negotiating his way out of the office.  “I have some keys and other stuff you might need in my absence," he said from the doorway. “I’ll bring them in before I leave."

  “Now, we have to fire a whole lot of people," Paul said, turning back to the matter at hand. 

  “The first one is on me," Sam said angrily, and picked up the phone.   

  “Sheila stepped out of her office for a minute," the voice informed him.  “She’ll be back in a moment. Can I give her a message?" 

  “Yeah,” Sam growled.  “Tell her to get her ass in my office now”

  “That was diplomatic," Pratt commented, after Sam slammed down the receiver. 

  “I should have taken my own advice."  

  “You mean the idea about Sheila having an ‘accident,’" Paul asked.  

  “Couldn’t have been bloody enough for me."

   

  Ten minutes later, while Sam and Paul were working off an employee list, a light knock came at the door.  “Here’s the key to my office and some files you might need," Charles said, placing the stack on Sam’s desk.  “Strange though, some of my keys are missing.” 

  “Which ones?" Sam asked.