FIFTY-FIVE
CARA
Our state-of-the-art surgical center is situated in a beautifully landscaped private campus featuring hotel-style recovery suites with access to gourmet meals, on-site specialists, and a broad array of wellness-focused holistic treatments.
—www.campbellcosmetic.com
City of Industry was probably fifteen miles away, but Cara was already in East LA, and Sheriff Burke had spotted her as she tried to board a bus to Reseda—two good reasons to hop on the 194 bus line, take an empty seat near the back, and head further inland.
The third reason was the most crucial, she reflected as she pulled her hat down low and leaned against the window as if she were sleeping.
Although Karl’s offices were located in Beverly Hills, he had purchased land in City of Industry precisely because it was the last place anyone expected to find a celebrity plastic surgery facility.
The detailed architectural model, which predated their relationship, sat in a position of honor in the living room on a custom-built table. Cara could still hear his enthusiastic pitch for the place, which he shared with all visitors to their home.
“The surgical suite will of course be state-of-the-art, and the recovery suite will be five-star all the way—Frette linens, automated voice control for nursing care, a full-time chef, you name it. Combine that with a full array of spa services and a guarantee of total privacy... it’s going to be booked two years in advance!”
During the groundbreaking, a giddy Karl had gripped his brand-new shovel and whispered to Cara, “Once this thing takes off, I’m not sure I’ll even need my Beverly Hills office.”
Cara found it hard to imagine his clients would want to schlep to City of Industry just for consultations but kept her opinion to herself. It was so far away, she herself hadn’t returned since the groundbreaking. A year and a half later, Karl was still practicing out of his Beverly Hills office but had told her he was moving some of his operations, including his four-person financial department, to City of Industry.
After Karl’s death, she moved the model to his office along with myriad other painful reminders of her loss. She assumed Karl’s longtime business manager, Ravi Davis, would settle the finances with his investors and recover any assets, if possible, while winding down the business. He still had other clients, and as far as she knew, was still working out of the new campus.
Maybe she could catch Ravi coming back from lunch to ask him how Karl could possibly have been running out of money.
As the bus reached City of Industry and neared Hanover Road, still two blocks away, she pulled the cord and the driver stopped the bus. As she got off, she looked ahead, half expecting to catch a real-life glimpse of the familiar cardboard model. Maybe she was still too far away.
She trudged up the littered roadway toward the intersection where a giddy Karl had gripped his shovel and grinned, saying, “It’s taken ten long years but here we are.”
And stopped in shock.
The center wasn’t finished. Construction hadn’t even begun.
A chain-link fence still surrounded the property, and the pennants she’d helped to hang were torn and flapping in the wind. A banner reading, FUTURE HOME OF CAMPBELL COSMETIC sagged from the locked gate that blocked the cracked driveway.
Cara walked up to the fence, steadied herself, and stared.
The weedy expanse of dirt was strewn with random trash and broken bottles. Someone had tagged the parking lot with the word SORAK in large white script. The only sign of any improvements on the property were the pathetic little holes they’d dug during the groundbreaking photo op.
Cara cried, great gulping sobs that sounded to her own ears like bitter laughter.
Karl was an excellent surgeon, and she had thought he was a competent businessman. Maybe the location couldn’t support such a lavish and expensive surgical center. Or maybe the impressive returns he forecasted were too ambitious, given his plan to recruit a cohort of highly trained but young and inexperienced surgeons. But either way, he’d never had a chance to find out. Why had he acted as though everything was proceeding as planned?
Wouldn’t it be better to spread out the risk by recruiting a couple of more senior doctors to be your partners? she remembered asking.
The best business partners are silent, he’d told her.
Exactly who had he gone into business with?
FIFTY-SIX
JORDAN
Nowthatis good labneh.
—Bart Simpson
“What’s the worst thing you ever ate?” Crosby challenged Hart as they all waited for dinner to arrive.
