Dead Certain

that?”
    “Because it’s in your family’s best interests.”
    “I hardly think you’re in the best position to judge what is or is not in the best interests of my family.”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you.“
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Your family enjoys quite a reputation in this town— like the Kennedys but without all the scandals. I can only assume you’d want to keep it that way.”
    “Is that some sort of threat?”
    “No, just a statement of fact. It would be extremely unpleasant for your family to have the details of the hospital’s operations dragged out into the light of public scrutiny.”
    “More painful than seeing the institution that we have spent millions of dollars supporting being used to squeeze profits out of sick people?” I demanded, wondering what on earth Uncle Edwin had been up to that had given Gerald Packman not only the ammunition, but the sense of impunity to use it.
    “Let’s just say that Prescott Memorial’s operations have gone unscrutinized for far too long. As you can imagine, I’ve had quite a bit of experience with so-called charitable institutions. More often than not they are ruled by ego and riddled with financial irregularities. When we come in, we invariably uncover a shocking lack of professional oversight and controls, problems that have been left to fester for years.”
    “So naturally you expect to find those same kind of problems at Prescott Memorial.”
    “Let’s just say I wouldn’t want anybody to be printing the hospital’s postoperative mortality statistics in the newspaper right now.”
    “Is that so?” I observed blandly. Inside, my heart practically leapt from my chest. From everything Claudia had told me, I assumed that knowledge of the problem with postsurgical deaths was confined to the hospital. If so, how had Packman found out about it?
    “In the real world the drive to make a profit forces companies to solve problems. In hospitals like Prescott Memorial, they just get swept under the rug. In my experience that’s never a good thing.”
    “That’s one of the things I wanted to ask you about,” I said, eager for the opportunity to shift the conversation over to my agenda.
    “What’s that?”
    “Your experience. I understand that prior to starting HCC you worked primarily in the fast-food and convenience-market industries. I was wondering exactly what it is about those endeavors that prepared you to run a health care company?”
    “I know you intend the question as an insult, but I actually look forward to answering it. For your information the similarities between the two industries are actually quite striking.”
    “Really? In what ways?”
    “Right before HCC bought its first hospital, I spent an entire day just hanging around in the emergency room, observing what kinds of things went on, and you know what struck me immediately? How similar it was to a fast-food franchise. People showed up in a hurry and went up to the counter to tell the person on the other side what they wanted. Not only that, but the measures of customer satisfaction were exactly the same: speed, courtesy, cleanliness, and convenience.”
    “No doubt you’re right,” I said coldly. “But there is one significant difference.”
    “What is that?”
    “When the kid at the drive-through window screws up your order, you don’t die.”
     
    I was on my feet and already out the door by the time I heard the timer go off.
    I don’t think it was any one thing that made me change my mind. Perhaps it was that I had seen the difference that one doctor in one hospital can make, or the fact that I’d seen how the ripples from that life can move through the world. Or maybe it was just the stunt with the chess clock, but whatever it was, I walked out of the Darth Vader building certain that Gerald Packman for all his audacity was simply wrong.
    The night before at Prescott Memorial Claudia hadn’t served up a Happy Meal. She’d saved a life. Trauma care wasn’t a product line. It was a battle against death fought hand to hand. I suspected that Claudia would be amused by my reaction—a lawyer blown away by what she does not understand. But in my heart I also knew that she would agree with my conclusions. Gerald Packman had to be stopped.
     
    I marveled at how light the traffic was this time of day, especially heading out of the city. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been out of the office on a weekday morning.