by Siegel, Andy
We never completed the work order and I didn’t realize this until the day Suzy was electrocuted years later. I was there with the hematology residents when it happened, having switched my residency out of cardiology. I was there when the nurse wheeled that machine down the hall. I heard a broken wheel as she pushed it toward us, and that clicking sound was the first time I remembered we never put the adapter on. Since it was almost three years later, I dismissed the thought that the machine this nurse was wheeling could be the one in question because I remembered it was having its wheel fixed.
I thought it couldn’t be the same machine but I was wrong. We weren’t in the room at the time Suzy was electrocuted, but right after you could tell something bad had happened by the smell of seared flesh wafting out into the hall. I was in a state of disbelief and Suzy’s mother was frozen, sitting up against that wall in shock. I tried to comfort her but I’m pretty sure she didn’t even know I was there.
When things settled down, I went into her room. I don’t know why, I just did. On the floor was a book Suzy had been reading, Old Yeller. I recall her saying she hoped it had a happy ending. And I remember praying in the hall she wouldn’t have the same fate when the code team carried her by me. Funny how life is, I had to do to Steven what that boy had to do to Old Yeller, and for a similar reason.
When I collected myself I went directly to Risk Management. I explained to Winnie McGillicuddy, the chief of Risk Management, exactly what happened. I told her how we forgot to place the adapter and I wanted to know if this was the same machine.
I stop reading to take a break. I can hardly believe I have it in me to take a break at this moment. But I’m tired, achy, and drugged out. Nonetheless, I need to assess my thoughts.
The Weasel was the chief of Risk Management at the defendant hospital; the Weasel knew exactly what went down; and the fucking Weasel was the person from Risk Management who assigned the work order in the first place and who was supposed to verify its completion. I continue reading the note:
I never got an answer from Ms. McGillicuddy but Steven confirmed the bad news. That little girl was injured because we put our selfish needs before the welfare and safety of innocent hospital patients. This always overshadowed our marriage. My guilt was immense and growing, especially because I had a second chance to save Suzy.
Unfortunately, the same could not be said for my husband, Steven. He was an opportunist. He figured he could take what had happened and turn it into money. He went to Ms. McGillicuddy after getting word the hospital had been sued and cut a deal. He knew she would be open to it because it was she who was ultimately responsible for seeing the adapter was placed. Steven also found out the hospital didn’t have independent insurance coverage during that time and any payout would be directly from the hospital’s self-insured pocket. Their agreement took place after I had already left the hospital and was working at a public clinic making very little money. The terms were we would keep silent about the mishap if the hospital would refer their pediatric sickle cell patients to my care in a private practice that Steven was to set up for me. This allowed me to pursue my passion, which was pediatric sickle cell research and treatment, and simultaneously allowed Steven to achieve his goal, which was to be rich.
The hospital stopped treating sickle cell children and their referrals made us the biggest treatment center in Brooklyn. We received hospital grants as part of the deal. Steven applied for and received federal grants independent of our agreement with the hospital. We became rich beyond our wildest dreams all because we neglected to plug an adapter on a machine that electrocuted Suzy Williams, then blackmailed the hospital over that terrible error.
I set the papers down again in disbelief. Smith hadn’t been kidding when he said he was responsible for the success of the center. I can’t believe the Weasel was able to orchestrate such a deal, but it was a win-win arrangement all around. I keep reading:
When you came to see me the first time, Steven knew things were going to heat up. That other attorney, Benson, knew nothing and suspected nothing. I told him there was no case and he said okay. When you figured out what happened, Steven used that to attempt to extort more money from the hospital with threats of exposure but it backfired. McGillicuddy immediately had our hospital grants revoked and the referral of patients was stopped cold. Over the last number of days alone we lost hundreds of thousands of dollars. McGillicuddy told Steven that you were onto the truth and that given what we had built up with our center, we were now the ones who stood to lose the most, and she was right. At the rate things were going, we were heading for bankruptcy in six months. McGillicuddy said she’d put things back to normal if we were able to convince you to drop the matter. We tried, but you just kept coming and coming and pushing and pushing.
When you insisted on my CV and read it in front of us, Steven was certain you’d figured things out and, well, you know the rest. I made Steven promise me that no one else would get hurt over all this, that Suzy’s injury and its effect on her loved ones was enough. I was so upset when he drugged you. When I asked what he was intending to do with you he didn’t answer. I knew his greed would lead him into darkness. That’s why I had to stop him. It all went too far. That’s about it. I am so sorry for what I have done.
Dr. Laura Smith
Just as I’m setting the note down for a third and final time, my cell rings, startling the fuck out of me again. The caller ID reads: PRIVATE CALLER. I hope and pray it’s June. “June?” I ask.
“It’s me, counselor. How you feeling today, Tug?”
“Not so hot, June. Can you guess why?”
“Carlton?”
“Bingo, June. You told me your husband was dead. What’s going on here?”
“Well, technically, I told you he was ‘no longer with us.’ You just inferred he was dead.”
“Whatever the exchange, you left me with the belief that your husband was dead, and you compounded that sentiment yesterday by your silence when I said you were Suzy’s sole heir and beneficiary to her millions should she die before you. Now I find out your husband is alive, a uniform supplier turned murderer, and was exiled from the witness protection program. Are you going to tell me next that you’re still married?”
“By ‘married,’ do you mean that we weren’t officially divorced, with papers and all?”
“That’s great! So you’re still married to a killer. I’m not happy, June. What’s more, I feel totally threatened by him, despite his overly polite demeanor and slight stature.”
“Just relax. He’s harmless without a motive.”
“You know what, June? That’s exactly what Henry Benson said to me. You know what else? I really don’t care. The guy scares me, motive or no motive. What is he doing here anyway?”
“He probably wants information on Suzy’s case,” June says matter-of-factly. “So give it to him.”
“Give it to him?”
“Yes, give it to him. He’ll find out what he wants anyway. So just tell him whatever he wants to know and you’ll be safe. Don’t hold back. Do you understand me? Don’t hold back anything. He’ll find out anyway, and then you’ll have given him a motive and you won’t be safe. Understand?”
“Yes, June, I understand. Now, before we hang up, did we have this conversation?”
“Stick with the truth and you’ll be safe,” she instructs. “So yes. If he asks if we spoke, tell him we did. Give him the time we spoke, what we spoke about, and anything else he asks. Like I said, he’ll find out anyway. I learned my resourcefulness from him.”
“Okay, June. Let me go and speak to him now. Later we’ll talk.”
“Just stick with the truth, and you’ll be safe.” Then she’s gone.
Our Conversation Never Happened
I can’t get the fucking Weasel off my mind, and I’m debating on whether or not to tell her what I know from Dr. Laura’s letter, just so she knows I know. Being right is everything when you’re a litigator. Anything less is crap. Didn’t I have that tho
ught already today?
I crack open the door. “Come on in, Mr. Williams.”
“Call me Carlton, please.” He follows me back into my office. I navigate around the desk, resting my crutches behind me.
“So, Carlton, uh, how can I be of assistance to you?”
“I understand my daughter’s case has settled.”
“That’s an accurate statement of fact.”
“What was the number?”
Technically, he’s not my client, and normally I wouldn’t share privileged information with him, but June has given me the go-ahead to do so. “Hers settled for nine-point-two million and June received seven hundred fifty thousand for her claim, both to be reduced by the attorney fee, which percentage is fixed by statute.”
“That June deserves every penny. She’s one devoted mother. She was a devoted wife, too, before this unfortunate circumstance changed all of us and wrecked my family.”
“I imagine June to have been a good wife. If the way she cares for Suzy is any indication. And I’m sure it must be.”
“So what happens with Suzy’s money?”
“The money goes into a financial vehicle known as a structured settlement and she’ll get paid out over her lifetime.”
“How much is the payout?”
“Approximately thirty-five million over the course of her expected life. It’s an annuity, so they take the client share and invest it, producing thirty-five, guaranteed.”
He ponders the large number. I can tell he’s happy with the result. “That’s a lot of money,” he says, supporting my observation.
“It is,” I agree.
“Who controls it?” he asks after a few seconds.
“It’s initially invested directly by the defendant into an annuity fund of an A++-rated insurance company and then reinsured by another A++ company, with a schedule of payments that automatically deposit money into a joint bank account in the name of Suzy, June, and an officer of the bank on a monthly basis to cover Suzy’s necessaries with lump sum payments at different intervals during Suzy’s life.”
“I understand, but now that I’m back in the picture I want to get to know my daughter again. So how does that work? You know, custody and getting some of that money released to me so I can do things with Suzy?”
“Things like custody are not within the realm of what I do. I’m an injury lawyer, not a matrimonial or family lawyer. You and June will have to work that out between yourselves or with lawyers that do that kind of work. As for releasing Suzy’s money to you, once you’ve established your rights of visitation I’d be happy to make application to the court on your behalf for the release of money to you to spend on your daughter. We have to give the judge supporting documentation as to where you’re going to spend the money, then evidence that you did, in fact, spend it there. The key in getting the money released is showing the judge it’s in the best interests of Suzy.”
Carlton’s pleasant demeanor takes a quick turn. “Are you saying spending time with me wouldn’t be in Suzy’s best interests?” he asks suspiciously.
“I’m not saying that at all. I was just laying out for you the legal criteria for the release of funds. The best interests of the child are that legal criteria.”
“There, you did it again! What are you trying to say here?”
At this moment, I realize Carlton’s looking to make an issue of things. It reminds me of Bert Beecher’s misinterpretation of the divorce laws where he was insisting on 50 percent of the settlement, thinking it was marital property. Like Bert, Carlton is one of those angry people who look for opportunities to create a combative exchange. I imagine his life experiences have caused him to develop this negative mannerism.
“Carlton, this is all good. Suzy’s case is over and she’s well taken care of financially. You are now available to be the father you weren’t able to be when you weren’t around. It’s a whole new beginning for you and your family. I’m proud I was a part of it and was able to help.”
Carlton first responds with calm and an appearance of agreement, which quickly and surprisingly turns to rage. I have no idea what in my last statement could possibly be making him angry, but I’m sure I’m going to find out. He is one irate fellow. “Help me? Help me? You didn’t help me, motherfucker! I helped you! I helped you, motherfucker!”
“Please calm down, Carlton. There’s nothing to be upset or angry about.” I wonder to myself, How does this murderous lowlife think he helped me?
“Yeah, I’m calm, but you should be thanking me, motherfucker, not the other way around.”
Instead of placating Carlton, which I know I should do in an effort to calm him, I take another tack. “Carlton, can you explain to me just how it is you helped me? I’m not sure I understand.”
“Yeah, I’ll tell you, motherfucker, since you don’t seem to know shit about it. Who the fuck you think saved your ass when that guy ran you off the parkway, gave you first aid to stop your bleeding, carried you out of the woods from that old Cadillac, and drove you to the hospital, leaving you on the sidewalk? That was me, motherfucker! Who the fuck you think broke you out of the trunk of that car? That was me, too, motherfucker. You’d be dead two times if it weren’t for me. You got that, motherfucker?”
I have to agree with him there. “I had no idea that was you, Carlton. How was I supposed to know it was you? I didn’t even know you existed until you showed up here. So yes, I owe you a thank-you. No, two thank-you’s for saving my life twice.”
“Damn right, motherfucker,” Carlton fumes. “I also finished the job on that piece of white trash who tried to run you off the road. He wasn’t dead from the crash, but I made sure he wouldn’t come after you again.”
“Please, Carlton, I appreciate you saving my life, but please don’t give me any information about your criminal wrongdoings. I don’t want to know any of that, okay?”
We sit there looking at each other for what must be half a minute. He finally decides he’s going to tell me what he’s been thinking about during his pause. “I did it for me, not you.”
“Did what for you?”
“I saved your life for me, not for you.”
“Carlton, I’m not following you here. Can you explain?”
“Yeah, I’ll explain. I was protecting my interests by saving your ass.”
“Can you explain that to me?” But I’m afraid I think I understand.
“Naw, man, I can’t. I can’t explain it to you, but you can explain something to me. What happens to that thirty-five million if Suzy dies? You know, if she dies from a complication of her medical condition or if she dies some other way?”
“Under the intestate laws of the state of New York,” I tell him without hesitation, “both you and your wife would get that money in equal shares.” Holy shit! Motive.
To kill Suzy, not me.
“Does June know I’m here?”
“Yes, she does.”
“We’re done talking. Good job on getting my daughter that money, lawyer. You and I, we helped each other. That’s good. About this conversation, we never had it. No one, I mean no one, and that includes June, is to know anything. Not that I intend to get back into Suzy’s life, not that I saved your life, and not about our conversation about what happens to the money if Suzy dies. You got that?”
“Got it,” I say. Meanwhile, I’m thinking that as soon as my office door hits this guy in the ass, I’m calling June to warn her.
“It’s late. You going home?”
“Uh, yeah,” I reply.
“I’ll walk you out and put you in a cab. It’s hard to do that with crutches. Come on.”
“Thanks, but I’m good. Need to tie up some loose ends. Been out of the office a lot lately.”
Carlton turns insistent. “Come on. Let’s go.” In the spirit of taking the path of least resistance I stand up to leave. But immediately I feel dizzy and shoot my hands down onto the desk for balance. The various drugs I’ve taken are respiratory and cardiac depressants, and I
just had an episode of postural hypotension.
“Are you okay?” he asks with seemingly genuine concern.
“I’m fine. I’m on some medication that interferes with the vasoconstriction ability of my arterial system to compensate for changes in gravity. The blood wasn’t forced to my brain fast enough when I stood up.” He’s unimpressed with my medical knowledge.
“I’ll carry that for you,” he offers. He takes my bag, which I’d been struggling to hold on to while also gripping my crutch. I hobble forward toward the door. “I got that,” he says.
After the elevator levels, Carlton holds open the door as I struggle my way from the deserted lobby toward the refuge of the busy street. Carlton, still being helpful, holds open the building door. Out on the sidewalk, I feel the relief of the street’s safe haven. People are everywhere.
“Let me put you in a cab,” he proposes.
“Thanks, but I’m going to pick up a bite and talk to a young woman named Margo. Former coma victims turn her on.”
“I figured you for a ladies’ man.” Carlton gives me an acknowledging nod.
I dissuade him of the notion. “Not really. Married, kids, you know the deal. I seem to strike out a lot anyway.”
“Yeah, right.”
I put my hand out for a shake while balancing on my right crutch. “Good night, Carlton. If you need anything else, just call.”
Carlton takes my hand and gives it a seriously firm squeeze. “Just remember, our conversation never happened. I believe you lawyers like to call it privileged communication.”
“My lips are sealed,” I respond. Of course, I haven’t changed my mind about warning June as soon as he’s out of range.
He smiles. “Later.” I detect a hint of cautious reserve in his completely buying my commitment to silence.
“Yeah, later,” I respond.