I don’t show up in the waiting room with flowers and a practiced expression.
I don’t hover in Lucy’s orbit like a man trying to be forgiven.
Not because I don’t want to.
Because I do.
The thought settles in my head like a stone, heavy and unwelcome.
I tell myself it’s optics. Strategy. Space. I tell myself the last thing she needs right now is my presence turning her mother’s crisis into a transaction.
I told her I wouldn’t pressure her.
So I don’t.
Instead, I do what I know.
I move pieces. I pull strings. I make phone calls that end in yes because the people on the other end understand the kind of man I am. And because they understand the kind of money I represent.
Dr. Teller calls Monday evening, polite, cool and unimpressed. He thinks he can push back on my request.
“I reviewed her file again,” he says.
“She’s complex,” he continues. “And this inpatient program has requirements. Criteria. Limitations.”
“Why are we having the same conversation, Teller? Adjust them.”
Silence.
Then, measured: “That isn’t how medicine works.”
I lean back in my chair, fingers tightening around the pen on my desk.
Control, Julian. Control.
“I’m not asking you to falsify anything,” I say evenly. “I’m asking you to prioritize a case you’d prioritize anyway if your waiting list wasn’t suffocating.”
Another beat.
Then Teller exhales. “It’s not just the bed. It’s staffing. It’s time. It’s resources.”
“Name the price.”
His laugh is sharp. Not amused. More like he’s recognizing something he doesn’t like in me. “You can’t buy a body into tolerating a trial it isn’t suited for.”
“I’m not buying her body,” I say, the irritation rising fast and bright. “I’m buying access to the care she’s been shut out of.”
“That’s a poetic way to describe what you are doing.”
“Is she a candidate?”
Teller pauses, the sound of paper shifting, like he’s looking again.
“She could be,” he says finally. “If we can stabilize her enough to begin. If her heart is cooperating. If she’s not in organ cascade. If...”
“I’ll fund what you need,” I cut in. “Staff. Equipment. Research. Expansion. Whatever your program’s been begging the board for.”
“Julian,” Teller says, and it’s the first time he uses my name like that, as if he’s reminding me we’re speaking as men and not as systems. “You can’t fix everything by throwing money at it.”
