“Kip, these four lawyers are representing the Sommerstones. I informed them you had some concerns.” Kieran squeezed his chin.
Kip forced his knees to bend as he took his seat. “The biggest concern is the impending storm. We need to close this sale before it hits. That is non-negotiable. But before we close, I want copies of the Sommerstones’ storm plan. My personnel need to walk through every facility, reinspect all physical plants, receive updated staff lists and certifications as well as a fresh patient census of both the hospital and manor.”
“We’ve provided that information,” one of the lawyers said.
“Problem, staffing appears to be running at twenty percent below par. It does not match the lists provided. What else have you lied about?” Kip asked.
“Where did you get that information?” another of the four yelled.
“Asking where we got the information sounds like you aren’t denying it.” Kip’s brow rose.
“Fine, when do you want those walkthroughs?” the third lawyer asked.
“No notice. We will arrive and complete them before Sunday. I want systems access by 1200 hours tomorrow. Also, why haven’t the staff of the facilities been notified of the impending sale?”
One of the attorneys got up to make a phone call.
Kieran leaned into Kip. “You do better when you have to think on your feet.” He placed a pink tablet in Kip’s palm. “Antacid.”
Kip broke out into laughter.
Chapter 10
Colvin Hellman and Lourdes Sommerstone took the elevator up to the fourth floor of Sommerstone Manor. The pair walked onto the north ward where thirty-five patients lived.
“Colvin, your dosage regimen is a disaster. See for yourself. Ovarix works—it kills everything. Nine of the patients are in liver failure; eight more have GI bleeds, and all of them are going into respiratory failure. They’ll all be dead within a week. There is no way the Department of Health will allow this trial to go on. And with this many patients, there is no way to hide it.” Lourdes walked him into the first room.
* * *
Harper returnedfrom lunch to find the third floor waiting room packed. Lourdes did not return to the office after lunch; she headed to the hospital for a meeting. The other doctors all had their regular nurse, so she was forced to work at Jerrold Sommerstone’s side. She hoped to be busy enough that it wouldn’t matter.
“Nice lunch, baby girl,” he said.
Harper shook her head, thinking about every time Kip called her sweetheart. “I’m not your baby girl. I will never be your baby girl,” she huffed.
Jerrold mocked her, “You’ll never be anyone else’s baby girl.”
“Dr. Jerrold, Harper, quick, Room 3,” the receptionist squealed over the practice-wide intercom. Her friend Adelaide was with a patient, who, by her screeches, was in excruciating pain.
Harper made eye contact with Adelaide. Things were about to go downhill quickly. That was the one positive thing about Jerrold Sommerstone—he never panicked. “IV, ten milligrams of morphine.”
She grabbed a plastic basin and got it in front of the elderly patient as she started to retch. After gloving up, she started an IV as Adelaide ran for the morphine.
“Miss Jaylee,” Jerrold said, “when did these pains start?”
“Last night. They’re so bad. I feel so poorly,” the old woman groaned.
“We will fix you up. And here comes Addy. She’s got the good stuff.” Jerrold placed a gentle hand on the woman’s belly, and she cried out. “Who came with you today?”
“My daughter,” she panted.
“I’ll go talk to her and make arrangements to get you to the hospital.” Jerrold patted her hands.
“Miss Jaylee, how’s the pain?” Adelaide asked.
“Not as bad, but I’m still…” She vomited what looked like coffee grounds and smelled vile.
“Harp, get Jerrold; she needs an NG tube.” Adelaide wiped the woman’s lips.
