"Yeah! Shut up bitch!"
At first, Elena thought she was dreaming. Who would have said such a thing at a professional medical presentation? She scanned the room until she found Eric staring at David, a huge grin on his face. Elena looked back at David. She wished desperately that she had a camera to capture the expression on his face.
This was the hidden beauty of involving Eric in their presentation. He didn't report to anyone in this room. He was just a patient, not to mention a military veteran. David certainly wasn't going to fight him, verbally or otherwise.
Elena clocked a fist-bump between Finn and Eric underneath the table.
“Thank you, Eric,” Finn said and Elena had to stifle a laugh. “Let’s continue. I believe we were pulling up the compensation package for David for 2017.”
Elena continued to the next slide, bringing up the document they'd prepared. At the bottom of the document, David's total compensation package displayed in clean font.
"Dr. Herrera, would you mind reading that annual bonus compensation figure at the bottom?" Finn asked her. "I forgot to put my contactsin today."
Elena bit back a smile at the blatant lie. Finn didn’t wear contacts.
"Ten million dollars," she read.
The silence that followed was deeply uncomfortable. Elena looked at every board member. Not a single one looked her in the eye. She couldn’t let them get off scot-free in this either. They were complicit in all of this. David was the chair, but they approved everything he’d done. They’d chosen to look the other way.
She wasn’t going to let them look away today.
"2019 protocol: fifteen percent success rate. Extension denied due to budgetary constraints. $11.2 million dollar bonus."
"2021 protocol: twenty-two percent success rate. Extension denied due to budgetary constraints. Bonus increased to $13 million."
When Elena stopped, an awkward silence remained. Finn’s voice cut through it.
“The money isn’t what matters to me.” He paused, looking at David. “What matters is these patients deserved the best possible chance at recovery. And I don’t believe they were given that chance.”
David leaned back in his chair, contemplating his next move. Then his eyes narrowed on Finn.
“Look, I understand you’re passionate about this work. But you’re being naïve. This was an experimental treatment. Do you understand what that means? Experimental protocols fail more often than they succeed.”
He paused, letting that sink in before continuing. “I hate to break it to you, kid, but we don’t live in a fairy tale world where every sick person gets better. Sometimes, despite our best efforts, treatments don’t work. That’s the nature ofmedical research.”
He leaned forward, expression hardening. “And again, you’re attempting emotional manipulation. You’ve cherry picked another case, this Patient X, to justify your argument. You’re not presenting theater, not science.”
Finn took a breath. "Patient X wasn't randomly selected. He wasn't cherry-picked for dramatic effect."
Elena felt her breath catch, knowing what was coming.
"Patient X was my brother.”
The room went still. David’s face went pale. Most of the board were looking down at their notes, looking anywhere besides Finn. Elena reached for Finn’s hand under the table and squeezed.
“My brother, Liam Cochrane, died in 2021 from multiple organ failure. The last four years of his life were unbearable. He couldn’t get a single good night’s sleep in the entirety of those four years. Constant headaches. His memory faded until he couldn’t recognize me. It just kept getting worse until the end.”
He paused, but his eyes never left David. No one in the room dared to speak.
“At the time, I blamed the researchers. Nothing they tried helped him. Now I realize they were doing the best they could.Youmade their work impossible.”
Elena felt a tear slide down her cheek before she could stop it, quickly wiping it away with her free hand.
David shifted in his seat, clearly weighing his options. When he finally spoke, he attempted a sympathetic tone.
“I’m sorry about your brother, Mr. Cochrane. Truly.” He paused, tone hardening slightly.
“But individual tragic cases cannot dictate institutional policy. My role at Bridgepoint is financial in nature. I’m supposed to ensure the company’s resources are allocated responsibly. When I reviewed those trials and saw the limitedsuccess rates, I made the difficult but financially prudent decision. Someone has to think about the bottom line and keeping this company solvent. Unfortunately, we can’t afford to help everybody. The budget won’t allow it.”
