“There are whispers he’s something of a miracle child.” The receptionist glanced toward the crowd as if she wished she could get closer.
“What do you mean?”
The woman shrugged. “Not certain. I’m left over here without all the details.” A light on her phone lit up, and she tapped a button. “Praecursoria. How may I direct your call?”
Caroline wormed her way closer to Quentin. A small cheer rose from those in front, and Caroline stood as high on her tippy toes as she could without toppling forward. The glimpse she caught was stunning. The boy who had looked so close to death weeks earlier had a smile on his face. The transformation might not be complete, but an aura of health seemed to surround him. And his mother. The cautious joy on her face told the story of how far Patrick had come.
Quentin held up his arms. “This result is only because of the vital work you do here each day. Whether you’re in the lab looking for new therapies and treatments or helping us navigate the process to get these treatments to the people who need them, you helped Patrick make this amazing turnaround.” He glanced at the boy again, then stepped down from the chair. “Each of you is vital to this work. I want you to remember this on the hard days when you wonder if what you do matters. It does.”
Everyone applauded again, and the young man shifted uneasily in his wheelchair. His look said he wasn’t comfortable being the focus of all that attention. The poor kid probably wanted to be with a friend playing video games of some sort.
Quentin motioned for everyone to quiet down. “Now it’s time to get back to work so we can help and find more Patricks.”
Find more Patricks? That was an odd way to phrase it.
People seemed reluctant to leave, instead pressing closer to the front as if to see the miracle with their own eyes. Caroline held back. She didn’t know what to think, other than to admit Patrick looked like a different young man, a child with a new lease on life.
She should be ecstatic, but instead she felt like Mary Robbins, who stood immediately behind her son with her hands secured to his wheelchair’s handles. While she had a smile on her face that communicated hope, it contrasted with the shadows under her eyes. How long and arduous had her journey been to get to this moment? Had hope been beaten out of her each time it raised its head? Was it too scary to risk it again? Whatever the case, Caroline sensed the woman couldn’t relax into the promise of the moment.
Caroline closed her eyes and imagined every emotion she’d feel in the same space.
She didn’t want to know the pain and strain of caring for a terminally ill child, one who had made a turnaround.
Had Quentin been right? Did the ends justify the means?
Had saving this life been worth risking failure and pushing FDA regs?
As she looked at the young boy in the wheelchair, her heart screamed yes, but her rational mind warned no.
Caroline stayed a few minutes longer, then started toward her office.
Mary Robbins caught her eye. After leaning down to say something to Patrick and then her husband, she wound through the crowd of well-wishers to Caroline. “Thank you.”
Caroline blinked. “For what? I’m not the one who dreamed up the treatment that’s helping your son.”
“But you are part of this.” Mary pushed a lock of her bobbed hair behind her ear. “Quentin told me how hard you worked to get that consent form prepared. Crazy start to your first week.”
“Just doing my job.” And it felt silly in light of what everyone else at Praecursoria did. She gestured to the other employees. “The superheroes are around you.”
“And in front of me.” Mary’s gaze was so intent, Caroline couldn’t look away. “I am so grateful.” Someone tapped on her arm, and after squeezing Caroline’s hand, Mary turned away.
Caroline pondered the emotion the interaction had generated.
She’d been so certain Quentin was wrong and she was right. That the answer was clear-cut. Mary’s words felt emblazoned on her heart and mind. She was a part of the magic done here. And it was something she could be proud of.
* * *
The preliminary numbers Reid had put together for Brandon swam on the screen. Brandon knew they would make sense to someone who understood accounting. He didn’t and wanted to email Reid back that this was exactly why he had a financial manager and a CPA. Instead, he focused on column after column. Then he clicked on the document Reid had sent with the spreadsheet.
After another fifteen minutes spent trying to get it all to make sense, he picked up his phone. “Can you give me the bottom line?”
“Hey to you too.” Reid didn’t sound amused, and Brandon stiffened.
“You could have let me go to voicemail.”
Reid chuckled. “Trying to make the numbers make sense?”
“Yeah.”
“Is the spreadsheet open?”
“Yep.”
“All right, go to the top row. It names what’s in each column.”
Brandon growled. “I don’t need it that simple.”
“Okay. So the first columns explain how much you pay each set of house parents now, next to a column with how much the state pays on a monthly basis for the kids in each cabin.”
“Makes sense.”
“The numbers in row forty are the totals of those amounts. You’ll see there’s a positive balance of roughly $8,000 a month.”
“That’s what I use to pay for upkeep, group meals, and activities.”
“And yourself.”
“When there’s any left over.”
“Which there often isn’t.”
“That’s why I have investment income.”
“As long as the economy and those companies thrive, you’re good.” Reid paused a moment. “See the bottom of the screen? Click on Sheet 2. That’s where I’ve tried to play out what would happen if the funding model flipped.”
“Why not just take the $8,000 and divide it by the five cabins?”
“That won’t capture everything you need it to. You need to create an emergency fund that’s separate from your personal funds.”
“Why?”
“You’ll be a landlord.”
“That’s really not any different than now.” He’d had to replace a water heater earlier in the week. “But I get your point.” He ran a finger along the screen as he tried to find the bottom line. “So does this work? Is there a chance we could try this model and make a bit of money? Enough for a cushion?”
“Like I said, this is a starting point, but yeah, with a bit of creativity and a lot of frugality, it should work.” A chime sounded in the background. “Gotta run, Brandon.”
“Thanks for the time that went into this.”
“My pleasure. I can’t foster kids, but I can help with your mission. Those kids need what you’re providing.”
Brandon hung up and turned from the computer to stare out the window.
In the distance he saw three of the boys playing a game of kickball. They’d arrived in April after their mom OD’d on opioids. She’d be okay, but it would be a long road to get her kids back if she could manage it. The boys were struggling to adjust, and he monitored the game in case things got too intense. It hadn’t reached the point that anyone needed to intervene, but he’d seen more than one kid with a bloody nose after a ball was kicked a little too hard and too high.
As he watched them scamper after the ball, Brandon felt the heaviness of the responsibility. He could review the spreadsheet again tonight. Right now he could be out there with the boys. Let them know he saw and valued them.
He wasn’t powerless, not like he’d been when he watched his mom lying in that hospital bed, dying. So still and quiet, and there was nothing he could do other than stay out of trouble so she could heal.
But she hadn’t.
Afterward he’d drifted from one couch to another while his brother disappeared from family care into foster care. He knew firsthand how important it was to keep siblings together, because he still hadn
’t found Trevor. At times Brandon wondered if he had died.
He grabbed his sweatshirt and tugged it over his head, then headed outside. As he walked across the field, he marveled he hadn’t become a statistic, maybe a high school dropout who couldn’t keep a job because he was addicted to substances and had a kid or two of his own.
He’d beaten the odds. He wanted the same for each of the kids entrusted to him.
Brandon thanked God again for saving and protecting him. He often added to it desperate pleas for wisdom and mercy.
“Mr. Brandon.” Joey, one of the boys living with the Stones, raced toward Brandon and collided with his hip like a poor tackle. “You gonna play with us?”
“It’s why he’s got his Colts sweatshirt on.” Parker was a couple of years older and liked to pretend he knew more, like all older brothers. “You gonna show us some moves?” He juked back and forth until Brandon picked him up around the waist and hiked him over his shoulder.
“You mean like this?”
The boy bounced on his shoulder, laughing, as Brandon chased the other boys, who kicked the ball back and forth. He let them stay in front of him, then pretended to be worn out and flopped on the grass and set Parker to the side. The boys piled on top of him in a giggling mass.
This moment. These boys. This was why staring at a spreadsheet for hours trying to find a way to make it work mattered.
That evening after dinner, he pulled up the accounting software on his computer again. Then he went to the banking software. His friends had helped him raise a lot of money to supplement what Virginia paid. They had good cash reserves, but not enough to bring in trauma counselors. Even that wouldn’t solve the problem, because the kids he served didn’t usually need trauma-informed care. Without knowing what the state would do with the final regs and how that would affect their funding going forward, any step was risky. Yet the more he considered it, the more he liked the idea of flipping Almost Home’s model on its head.
Reid was right. If he was careful and creative, there’d be enough to keep his rainy-day fund in place. He reached for his phone and dialed Caroline’s number because he wanted her take on it. He’d run Reid’s numbers by her logical mind.
The call clicked over to voicemail, and he sighed. He missed his girlfriend and best friend.
Her new job was taking more of her time and energy than when she worked for the judge, and she was more reluctant to talk about her work. He’d thought she was bored, but now he wished that was the case, because he needed her.
The thought made him stop cold.
He couldn’t need her.
He needed to be self-sufficient. That was how he survived. On his own. Without relying on others. He wouldn’t change now.
It was what his world demanded.
Chapter 13
Wednesday, May 19
Caroline paused in the sunshine before she stepped into Praecursoria’s lobby. On nice days at the courts, she’d throw on her tennis shoes and take lunchtime walks along the National Mall. It had emphasized what an amazing city she had the privilege of working in. These days she rarely felt the kiss of the sun on her skin, and she missed it.
As she walked through the lobby toward the hallway that led to her office, she remembered the space so packed she could hardly move. Ever since Patrick had reappeared Monday looking better, the company had pulsed with an energy that motivated everyone to do more, work longer, and find a way to speed his treatment through trials so that more people could access it and be saved.
The new energy showed even as she walked by the open workspaces. Several people had rearranged their desks into pods where collaboration was easier. Caroline smiled as she took in the activity. This was a dynamic she’d never experienced at the courts. She loved the energy, the sense of purpose, and the knowledge that what she did was a piece of this.
Everyone who worked at Praecursoria had a role to play. She was realizing hers was as important as any. Without her legal knowledge and direction, the work the others did wouldn’t make it through trials and to the marketplace. This was why she was here.
It felt good.
For once, the voices that told her she wasn’t good for anything and was one great cosmic mistake disappeared in the light of purpose and challenge.
She was even sleeping better at night. That was a bit of a mystery, but maybe her new sense of purpose carried over to her dreams, silencing the fears that something awful would wake her. As a child, that foreshadowing had been too real. And as an adult it had been hard to shake.
After dropping her bag behind her desk, she settled down to work. When her cell phone vibrated across her desk, she noted Brandon’s number and smiled. Before she could take his call, Justin walked in with his team, Lori and a guy she hadn’t met, for a meeting regarding filing a patent for another experimental therapy. Timing was critical. Wait too long, and a competitor could beat you to the patent office. Then your only option was to sue and prove it was your idea first. Do it too soon, and time and money could be wasted on a worthless protocol.
The four crowded around the small round table in front of her desk, and Justin made quick introductions. “You’ve met Lori, and Tod is a colleague who works with us in the lab.”
Tod’s glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them up with a finger. “Nice to meet you.”
Caroline smiled and leaned forward to shake his hand. “You too.” She glanced at Justin. “What do you have for me?”
Justin pulled a file from the bottom of his stack. “I’d like to discuss when we’re ready for Phase 2 with Trial CAR T 463.”
Caroline had anticipated this. “Not anywhere near close. You don’t have results of Phase 1 for us to build the case for moving to a broader Phase 2.”
“But we can start compiling the data so the process is faster when we are there.”
“Okay.” Caroline stood and grabbed a file from her desk drawer.
The next twenty minutes were filled with a technical discussion about supplemental questions that needed to be answered on the Phase 2 application.
She pushed back from the table as she tried to relax her neck. “I’ll circulate these notes for input. The file will be thick when we’re done.”
Lori grimaced. “You should see some of the packets we’ve responded to in the past.”
Justin nodded as he stroked his goatee. “Your attention to detail has helped close some of the more obvious holes.” With a red pen he made marks on his copy of the latest iteration. Then he looked at her with steady intensity, the kind she imagined he applied to his research and analysis of data. “I think we should include the information about Patrick.”
“What information is that? He’s already part of the data pool.”
“About what we’re seeing with his cells.”
“Does it impact this moving to Phase 2?”
“What do you mean?” Tod looked between them.
“Is what you’re seeing a result of his participation in the trial? Receiving our therapy?”
“Well, his recovery, sure.” Justin pinched the bridge of his nose. “What I meant was the possibility his cells have HeLa-like qualities.”
Caroline shook her head. “If it’s not related to the treatment Patrick has received from us as part of the trial, I don’t want to include it. No need to distract the reviewer from the purpose and focus of the treatment.”
“Understood.” Justin slid the papers back into the pile then leaned into the table. “Do you understand what a game changer this therapy could be?”
“Yes. Seeing Patrick Monday was an exclamation point on that.”
“We want this to give thousands of other very sick kids the same chance.”
“Then we’re all on the same page.”
The trio left, and Caroline returned to her desk where she found a list of unopened emails. She started clicking through and deleting what she could, but she paused when she spotted one from Quentin.
Need you in my office.
&nbs
p; When she clicked to open the email, the message was blank.
She hated not knowing why people wanted to see her. Wasn’t it common courtesy to indicate the topic? She grabbed her phone and let Lillian know she was on the way. Then she collected her old-fashioned notebook and a pen before grabbing her blazer from the hook on the back of her door. As she stepped through the door, she shuffled her things from hand to hand as she slid her arms into the navy jacket. A moment later a cluster of employees in lab coats strode past her, jostling her into the wall. They didn’t notice her as she rubbed her shoulder where it had hit.
She didn’t enjoy feeling overlooked. It brought all the memories of growing up with an alcoholic mother racing to the forefront. This time she knew it wasn’t personal, but she could still feel the accidental bruise forming.
Lillian wasn’t sitting behind her small oak desk when Caroline reached Quentin’s suite, so Caroline rapped on the door briskly. When she pushed the cracked door open, Quentin sat with his back to the door, his chair tipped against his desk, his feet propped on the credenza. He appeared deep in thought as he listened to someone on the phone. He mumbled something, then hung up and turned toward her.
“Good. You’re here.”
“Yes, sir. Had to wrap up a meeting.” She tried to stop the apology for working when his email arrived.
“Have a seat.”
She floated to the edge of the leather chair, just as her mother had taught her before all those pageants. A lady never plopped; she floated. The lesson was one more reason life had been so confusing. Her mother was all about appearances yet drank herself to sleep more nights than not. Caroline rubbed the thought away. Without the scholarship money pageants had provided, her life would look very different. Still, she tipped her chin and forced herself to wait with a small smile.
Quentin studied Caroline a minute. His white shirt looked like it had lost some of the starch in the heat of the day. Somehow it only added to his aura of intensity. She remained frozen beneath his scrutiny.
“Surely you didn’t have me come here to stare at me.” She’d hoped her words would surprise him, but they merely amused him.
Lethal Intent Page 10