by LaGreca, Gen
The last sentence brought a tinge of hope to Warren’s face.
“And we ride to victory on your great moment, Warren. You’re Abraham, the man of integrity who sacrificed his personal interest in order to serve a higher good.”
Warren tried to forget the words just uttered by the previous visitor about a slick ointment that covered tainted motives.
Burrow rose, pacing restlessly, his weariness gone. “Warren, I need this election. I must maintain the momentum that’s going to catapult me to the presidency. I’ll be the leader of three hundred million people and the most powerful man in the world!” Burrow’s face burned with excitement. “Do you think I’m gonna let a hotshot doctor and his Broadway cupcake grind my career to a halt? Do you see what I mean, man?”
“My sons would say you’re blackmailing me to win an election.”
“I see it differently. I have a duty to bring this letter to your attention because it’s relevant to a case you’re evaluating. You need to control your son before you can hope to control an entire state. If you don’t put a lid on him, you can say good-bye to your place in history.”
Warren sat quietly for a long moment, contemplating the situation, while Burrow sipped his cognac patiently. Then the secretary rose from his chair with the resolve of someone who had reached a decision. Excusing himself, he went into his study and made a copy of the document that his staff had prepared for his signature. It was so much easier to act now, he thought, to do what he really wanted—no, not wanted, but felt was his duty—to do . . . for the public, of course. But now there was no more conflict, because the act that he would perform for the people was also the act that would save David. He at last had full justification for doing the . . . right thing. Even his sons could not challenge his actions in light of the new information just revealed to him. Warren brought the papers to Burrow.
“Mack, today I wrote this decision, which punishes David. I have two copies, which I can sign. One of these documents I’ll bring with me to the trial tomorrow, and the other I can give to you now . . . in exchange for David’s original letter to Nicole.”
Burrow smiled in sheer delight. “Now you’re learning, Warren!”
“This isn’t what you think it is, Mack. I’m not signing this document to buy a political post from you. I could never do that! I’m acting to save the career of a brilliant surgeon and to do what’s right for the people.”
Burrow grinned mockingly. Warren eagerly handed him the papers but evasively looked away. “The people need David’s skills. Protecting him from scandal and preserving his license is in the public interest.”
“Whatever you say, Warren, my friend.” Burrow laughed derisively.
Warren signed both copies of the document while Burrow summoned an aide to bring him a confidential folder containing David’s original letter. Soon a noble exchange of papers between two honorable officials was completed.
Chapter 23
The Final Verdict
For the first time in weeks, Warren slept soundly and awoke refreshed. A gourmet meal service arrived with his breakfast, which he devoured. The dark rings around his eyes had lightened and a pink color had returned to his gaunt cheeks. When he arrived at the brick building of the Bureau of Medicine, he lifted his head to the gold inscription above the door, as if catching sparks from a power source: To serve the public interest above all other concerns—this is the noble work of medicine.
Inside the crowded hearing room, David and his lawyer sat at one table, CareFree’s attorney at the other. The reporters and onlookers were in the same places as on the previous day. Only the young patient was missing. When David had telephoned Nicole’s apartment earlier that morning, he learned that she had not yet awakened, doubtless the result of his sleeping pills and her exhaustion. He had asked Mrs. Trimbell not to wake her; instead, he would visit her after the hearing to relay the verdict.
“She’ll be angry if she misses court,” Mrs. Trimbell had warned.
“Blame it on me,” David had replied.
When his father appeared at the judge’s bench and called the meeting to order, David rose to hear his sentence.
Warren had subdued the warring factions in his mind so that his voice was calm and confident. “Dr. Lang, you are a gifted surgeon. Your research is excellent. However, you have broken the law, and you must be held accountable. I have no choice but to fine you twenty-five thousand dollars and to suspend you for one year.”
A murmur rolled through the spectators. David gasped in horror.
“You may return to medicine after your suspension and enjoy many productive years of practice,” Warren continued. “We encourage you to pursue your research at that time through the proper channels. Your work is a noble vision, Dr. Lang, but CareFree is noble, too. We must combine the two for the public good. This is why you are prohibited from performing any more unauthorized surgeries. And for the patient’s safety, you must discontinue treatment in the case in question.”
David’s voice was an outcry of anger and hurt: “I will complete the case I started, Mr. Secretary.”
Warren’s voice faltered. He looked taken aback. “Dr. Lang, I expected that once the sentence was official, for the sake of your future, you would resign yourself to it. You have many years left to practice and thousands of cases to treat. I hope your love of medicine will prevail and help you to accept this fair decision!”
“I don’t accept it.” David’s voice reverberated through the courtroom. He pointed his finger at Warren. “But it does set me free. I can say anything I please now, because I have nothing to lose. I’m going to expose CareFree so that everyone will know how arbitrary and corrupt it is. I damn your institution and you as irrevocably evil!”
He stomped angrily out of the hushed courtroom, the echo of his steps reverberating in Warren’s ears.
* * * * *
When the secretary reached his office on the twelfth floor, he vanished behind closed doors to tackle his most important assignment: composing the acceptance speech for his nomination as lieutenant governor. There was no time to spare, he told himself, bracing for a whirlwind seven weeks of campaigning.
He resisted the temptation to ask for his messages until completing the task at hand. He eagerly expected congratulations on his courageous decision from across the state and even from Washington. The secretary of the National Department of Health Services would surely call, and perhaps even the president himself. After Burrow’s announcement of his running mate, there would likely be a banquet and a late-night party. He sprang from his seat to check his adjacent closet and dressing room, relieved to find a favorite outfit, a linen suit handmade by a tailor in southern France, ready for him if he found no time to change at home. He had best keep multiple suits handy in his house, his penthouse apartment, and his offices to meet the demands of the campaign. There would be strategy sessions, speeches, rallies, magazine interviews, television appearances, photography shoots. He felt a rush of excitement unequalled in his life.
His door opened a crack.
“Dr. Lang, I’m sorry to interrupt—”
“Doris, come in, my dear! Can you schedule my barber and manicurist to stop by tomorrow?”
“Yes, of course. The reason I—”
“And could you arrange to have two of my tuxedos sent from my Albany home to my Manhattan condo?”
“Yes. Now I have—”
“And I’ll need more dress shirts. Can you telephone my tailor?”
“Dr. Lang, the governor wants to see you right away.”
“Oh, yes, of course!” Warren smiled broadly.
“He’s at his suite in the Rutledge Hotel.”
Warren leaped from his chair with the energy of a sprinter at a track meet. He opened his closet door so he could look in a mirror to straighten his tie and smooth his hair. “I may get stranded with the governor for lunch and a press conference, Doris, so don’t be surprised if I’m gone for a while.” He winked at her with a boyish exuberance.
>
“Of course, Dr. Lang. Your driver is waiting outside.”
* * * * *
Warren inhaled the splendor that was the private parlor of the governor’s suite at the Rutledge Hotel. A crystal chandelier hanging from a gold-leaf ceiling rested like a bejeweled crown over the antique furnishings. He entered with the spry gait of a prince called to the palace for his coronation. Smiling broadly, he approached the governor, his hand extended for a robust handshake. Burrow raised a limp hand to oblige halfheartedly, then gestured to a seat on the sofa.
“Have you heard the news?” Burrow said crossly as he sat in an armchair opposite Warren.
“You mean the news of my decision at the trial?” Warren said cheerfully, expecting to be congratulated.
“That news is two hours old! You’re always a step behind, aren’t you?” Burrow snapped. “I mean the announcement by Insight, the most popular news show on national prime-time television, that your son will appear in a special segment called ‘A Critical Look at CareFree’!”
“He’s grounded, Mack. He’s just letting off steam. He’ll get over it.”
“You silly fool, he’s gonna open a can of worms, and just weeks before the election! You were supposed to put a lid on him, damn it!”
“I did. He’s handcuffed. He can’t operate.”
“What about his mouth?”
“I did exactly what you said to do. Now, I was hoping to discuss . . . our campaign.”
“You mean my campaign.” Burrow folded his arms sternly.
“What?!” Warren whispered incredulously. “What do you mean, Mack?”
“I’m rethinking my choice for lieutenant governor.”
“What?! How could you? I acted honorably. We had a deal! I’m expecting my name on the ballot!”
“Our deal was that you’d put a lid on your son. I can’t pick a lieutenant governor whose son is waging a crusade against me. He’d get tremendous news coverage if his father were on my ticket. His gripes against CareFree could dominate the campaign. I can’t have that.”
Warren’s face was a white oval of naked fear. “Mack! What did I buy for signing that document last night?”
“You bought his license, man. You got the love letter, so he keeps his license.”
“What about the . . . lieutenant governor’s . . . post? You were ready to choose me. It’s the . . . dream . . . of my life. I’ve sacrificed everything for it!”
The desperate plea failed to register on Burrow’s indifferent face. He walked to an antique desk in the room and removed two documents from a delicate drawer of carved wood. “There’s plan A and plan B.” He held a document in each hand. “In my right hand is a speech announcing you as my running mate. In my left is a speech in which I announce that the state comptroller will be my running mate instead. If you can’t deliver the goods, I’ll go with plan B.”
“But you said that if I punished my son, the press would hail me as a man of integrity who puts aside personal motives to serve a higher good, and that’s what you needed. You offered me a deed to immortality. You said we’d ride to victory on my great moment.”
“But you didn’t have a great moment. The news reports are mixed. Your son is a loose cannon, threatening to blast CareFree. The press is wondering what secrets he knows and what dirt will come out.”
“But Mack, I still chose you over my son!” Warren rose from his seat to plead his case before Burrow. “Remember Abraham and Isaac? God rewarded Abraham for his loyalty. You can’t double-cross me!”
“I expected you to crush your son. You tied his hands but not his mouth. Having you on the ticket now will embarrass me and help him get massive media exposure as the son of my running mate.”
Burrow surveyed the trembling body before him that moments ago held dignity, and even he felt sickened at the transformation. He sighed. “Okay, Warren, I’ll give you one final chance.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s noon. My press conference is at three. You have a couple of hours to talk sense into your son. If you can get him to cancel his appearance on Insight and call off his crusade by two-thirty, you’re in. That’s the best I can do.”
* * * * *
The secretary’s limousine stopped in front of the medical building next door to Riverview Hospital. Warren composed himself before entering. He traveled a familiar path to a simple wooden door with a translucent glass window, a place laden with memories. Black letters on the glass announced David Lang, MD, Neurosurgeon. Warren recalled his immense pride on opening that door for the first time, when David had begun his practice. Back then the father had entered with the brisk walk of a welcomed visitor. Now he almost tiptoed.
By virtue of CareFree’s decree, the bustling office of his memory was now a ghost town. The front desk and waiting area were lifeless. He walked further, past a dormant examining room to the half-opened door of an office. Sounds from a radio floated into the corridor, with an announcer introducing a sonata.
He knocked gently. “David?”
David had learned from Mrs. Trimbell that his exhausted patient was still sleeping. He was awaiting a call from the nurse to tell him that Nicole awakened, at which time he would visit her to relate the outcome of the trial.
“What are you doing here?” David looked up from a newspaper spread open on his desk. Blank eyes and a toneless voice did not offer Warren the benefit of anger.
“I want to explain why I had to do what I did today. May I please come in?”
“No.” The face that used to brighten whenever Warren entered a room was expressionless.
Warren cautiously opened the door wider while remaining outside. “I had to punish you for your own good, to save your license. Yes, I saved your license today! I want you to know that.”
Warren stepped in gently and waited to be offered a seat. The offer did not come, so he remained standing.
“There was a beautiful letter that you wrote to Nicole. It was unsigned, but in your handwriting.”
“How would you know about that?”
“Mack Burrow had it.”
A faint raise of the eyebrows was the only response Warren received.
“I don’t know how Mack got it.”
“I do.” David’s mind made two stops: on the letter’s disappearance the day Commissioner Wellington Ames had visited Nicole in the hospital, and on the news report the previous evening of the promotion Ames had received from Burrow.
“That letter could be very damaging to you.”
“Why?”
“Because Mack was going to leak it to the press!”
“So?” The son looked at his father blankly.
“David, really,” Warren admonished gently. “You know it’s improper to be having an affair with a patient, especially in such a controversial case. Mack was going to make a scandal out of it that would have cost you your license. By threatening to leak the letter, he forced me to punish you, and I gave in to save your career. You’re suspended for a year, but you still have your license, thanks to me!”
Warren waited for words of gratitude but heard only the sonata on the radio.
“Well, David?”
“I’m not having an affair with my patient. She doesn’t know who sent her the letter. I admired her from a distance and wrote to her anonymously. That’s all. There’s no scandal to threaten my license.” David frowned thoughtfully. “If your decision to punish me was based on that letter, then why didn’t you ask me about it beforehand?”
“But Mack was going to say there was a scandal. With his smear campaign—”
“The truth is my defense. Let him say what he pleases.”
“But he could make the letter public!”
“So let him.”
“But the letter would hurt Marie. Surely you’d want to spare her feelings.”
“Not really.”
“I can get that letter back to you, so it will never be made public.” Warren acted as if Burrow still had the letter.
David looked at his father suspicio
usly.
Warren eagerly pulled a chair up to his son’s desk and sat facing him. “All you have to do is cancel your appearance on Insight, and I can get that letter into your hands. You can save yourself from a smear campaign run by expert mudslingers!”
David burst out laughing. “And what will you get, Mr. Secretary? Is this the last hoop for you to jump through to become Mack the Blackmailer’s running mate? Forget it.” The amusement in his laugh never reached his eyes.
“I’m only thinking of you!”
“Then why didn’t you ask me about the letter and find out the truth before making your decision?”
Warren looked away from eyes that were too intelligent. David leaned back, cocking his head as if contemplating a puzzle.
“The letter is innocuous. I’m not having an affair. I could probably demonstrate the truth if I had to. Why were you so . . . quick to . . .” The son studied the pathetic, fidgeting entity that used to be his idol. “You were eager to accept Burrow’s accusations, weren’t you?”
“That’s not true!”
“Because you wanted to punish me, and the letter gave you grounds. That must be it.” David’s expression changed from grappling with a problem to solving it. “You wanted to punish me so that you could please Burrow and get on his ticket. It might have been hard to keep from yourself the knowledge that you sold Nicole and me down the river to get your nomination. But with the letter, you could tell yourself that you punished me for my own good, to save my license and spare me from a scandal.”
“That’s not the way it was!”
David eyes narrowed as if he was piecing the rest of the puzzle together. “And if you made a deal with your boss to punish me in exchange for the letter, then you’d have it yourself. You would have bought the letter with your decision against me. I’ll bet you do have it!”