“The computer systems people have reported a possible breakdown of the secured access code that protects the board’s personal files, including Priority. The breakdown may have occurred last Tuesday during a thunderstorm in Concord. The same day Marlene Rhoden worked late and stole the memos we left for her to find.”
“And you believe she may have gotten into the secured files?”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“Any proof?”
“Not in our system. But her terminal could tell us for sure.”
“What makes you think she even tried to access the Priority files?”
“Years of being paranoid.”
He smiled. He wasn’t as concerned as De Florio seemed to be, but he wasn’t foolish either. “Check it out.”
“My thought, too. Do you wish a suspension on the processing of the remainder from May’s list in the meantime?”
“How’s that progressing?”
“Numbers 6 and 8 are fully done. Seven will be shortly.”
He considered the request, but he had an 11:30 tee time and had to be finished with golf by four. His wife had made that clear. It was the start of the summer social season and she did not want to be late for the first event this evening. And he did not want to lose the dollars gained from that last Priority.
Every penny counted.
“Go ahead and finish.”
12:55P.M.
CHRIS WAS DRESSED IN A POLKA-DOT GOWN, OPEN IN THE BACK,identical to one he’d worn most of the weekend. He was in his doctor’s posh downtown Atlanta office, on the fifteenth floor of a medical building adjacent to Crawford W. Long Hospital. He’d spent the weekend having tests. Today a couple more were required. But thankfully, they could be performed in the office.
It had been two years ago, during a routine physical, that another doctor first noticed the mass. A subsequent biopsy confirmed that his prostate harbored cancerous cells. At his insistence a conservative treatment had been employed involving a drug combination designed merely to check any spreading. He’d vetoed surgery, not wanting to draw attention. Luckily, the drugs were somewhat successful and subsequent tests confirmed that the cancer seemed contained. But that situation had changed over the past few weeks.
“I’m not going to bullshit you, Chris. The tests confirm that the prostate-specific antigen is in your blood at disturbing levels. The physical exam and X-rays show radical enlargement. The cancer’s back and it’s spread. Definitely to the bladder, the adjacent bone,lymph nodes, maybe further. It’s not good. The unconventional approach you took gave it more time to metastasize.”
“What are the survival odds at my age?”
“Unfortunately, it appears to be fast growing. The prognosis, at best, is no more than a year. Probably more like five or six months. A year ago we could have removed the prostate and testicles, but that won’t help anymore. Too much spreading. There’s radiation and chemotherapy, but the side effects can be worse than the disease.”
He absorbed the death sentence. “You’re telling me there’s really nothing to be done.”
“I’m sorry, Chris. Telling someone they’re going to die is the toughest thing I do as a doctor, especially to a friend.”
He’d heard enough. What more was there to say? He slid off the examining table and shook the man’s hand. “I appreciate everything you’ve done. I’ll be in touch if I have any problems.”
Fifteen minutes later, after dressing, he left the office and shuffled toward the floor’s elevator bank. He pushed theDOWNbutton and patiently waited for a car to arrive. He’d heard nothing he hadn’t already suspected. He was going to die. And there was nothing he could do about it. Though he could not say the words, he’d chosen his course of treatment with the idea that he would ultimately die from the disease.
And fast.
He visualized the impertinent smirk Hamilton Lee perpetually wore, evidence of the perverse pleasure Lee seemed to get from thinking himself in charge. And Larry Hughes. That puppy-dog personality that allowed Lee the luxury of consistently outvoting him. He remembered the beginning. How he found the money while the one, not much more than an okay manager, and the other, only a moderately successful salesman, indiscriminately spent it. They were both total failures as executives. If he hadn’t done what he did the whole venture would have bankrupted long ago. Now, thanks to his failing body, they could reap the fullharvest from the seeds he’d so carefully sowed. That thought bothered him more than dying.
But what could he do about it?
Only De Florio and two associates. Until August.
That meant De Florio was shorthanded. Seemed ideal. He’d been thinking of what to do for weeks. No more.
Time to act.
