“Good morning, sir,” he said, as they passed.
Bozin acknowledged the greeting with a nod.
The man was not a chitchatter. Generally, only business had ever passed between them. Bozin was a somber, paternal soul with a genteel face centered by a sharp, Roman nose. Tall, upright, distinguished in appearance and bearing, with thick glasses magnifying his scrutinizing gray eyes. The wavy silver hair remained thick and accounted for the nickname trade journals and the presssometimes used when referring to him. The Silver Fox. A play on words that also referenced Bozin’s sly knack for business. He was by far the superior of the three owners in brains and guts, responsible for a majority of the company’s success.
De Florio kept walking and turned a corner, arriving at Hamilton Lee’s suite just as Lee and Hughes stepped off the private elevator from the thirtieth floor. He and Hughes exchanged pleasantries before Hughes excused himself.
Lee then led him into the office and closed the door.
The prodigious space commanded a panoramic view of downtown Atlanta. He knew all about the décor. The desk was a French antique shipped over from the Languedoc. The sofa and chairs nineteenth-century English. The small conference table an art nouveau dining room set converted to business use. Lee liked to take credit for the look, but he knew it had all been professionally coordinated by a north Atlanta interior designer. Truth be told, he never really cared for its obviousness and, while visiting, felt more like he was in a museum than in a working office.
“Have a seat, Jon. Some coffee?” Lee asked, parading over to the wall bar.
He declined.
Lee filled a china cup, then stepped to his desk that angled catty-cornered before two outer glass walls. He was already comfortable in one of the open-armed, Georgian chairs in front.
Lee sat. “All right. Proceed.”
“All five Priorities from May’s list have been processed. Number 1—heart failure. Number 2—kidney failure. Both deaths verified by associates at the scene. As you’re aware, a problem occurred with Number 3 but that was corrected last evening. On-site verification was impossible. But I checked this morning. The convalescent center’s computer acknowledged death during the night, time undetermined. Though I have no independent confirmation on Numbers 4 and 5, death was confirmed by my associate’s personal observations.”
“The causes being?”
“Number 4 was a drug overdose. Number 5 anaphylactic shock caused by a bee sting. All five processings were consistent with the criteria placed on each.”
Lee sipped his coffee. “Any more problems?”
“Everything went smoothly, without incident.”
“I’m always amazed at your creativity. How interesting it must be to innocuously orchestrate so many varied results.”
“That’s what I’m paid to do.”
“Why did the problem occur with Number 3?”
“The criteria specifically called for a medication switch—”
“There was a good reason for that.”
He realized that the availability of life and car insurance benefits sometimes figured into the board’s decision making. Double indemnity for an accidental death was occasionally used as a means to financially aid a Priority’s dependents. But the gesture was not entirely altruistic. Rule required processing methods be varied, and medication errors were an explainable variation that led nowhere back to the company. Instead, third parties would be implicated in any possible liability.
“How did the mistake in processing happen?” Lee asked.
“The associate managed to change out the prescription, but his choice for the change was not powerful enough to induce death in this individual. That was an unacceptable miscalculation on his part.”
“And what of the mistake?” Lee asked.
“Corrective action will be taken.”
“As I knew it would,” Lee said, adding a tip of his cup.
He didn’t acknowledge the compliment. Flattery meant little to him.
“The board has just Prioritized the remaining three from May’s list. No criteria were placed. They’ve already been prechecked, correct?”
He nodded. “Their files are prepared and ready.”
“Process at will.”
