The Healer's Curse

By J P Doyle

5 STARS!  IndieReader Approved 

THE HEALER’S CURSE is a new supernatural thriller - with a medical twist.

Alex Trent was as shocked as everyone else when he found out that he could heal with the touch of his hand. He thought that he was on the fast track to fame and fortune, just for the simple act of touching others.

He is about to find out how wrong he is. 

Alex will be forced into a bizarre game of medical Russian roulette that will threaten not only his life but those around him.

And that's just the beginning of his problems.

Alex must find out how to get rid of The Healer's Curse before it crosses a line—a line where not even his own healing ability can save him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J P Doyle
• Release date: Jul 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9780998579719

J P Doyle

J. P. Doyle is an American writer who lives in southeast Michigan. He enjoys writing thrillers, but has other projects in the works, including a historical Japanese trilogy.  His next thriller novel, The Met·a·date Murder, is currently in production.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The sharks were circling, closing in—and they were out for blood.

His blood.

Malcolm Ellison Lewis, the CEO of Brookstone Hospital, stepped into his unlit office in the administration building. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he checked the glowing tritium hands on his wristwatch. 5:07 a.m. Danica Sharp, his secretary, would be there in twenty-three minutes. He had just enough time to get it done.

Lewis placed his attaché case on the desk and turned to look through the windows at his dominion: Brookstone was a 150-bed hospital he had led as CEO for the past thirty-two years.

He thought of Brookstone as a lady, as would a captain of his ship. He had guided her through many rough seas over the years: keeping wages and capital costs under control, fighting off unions, wooing investors, and managing the increasing demands brought on by Medicare, Medicaid, and the Affordable Health Care Act. He had pulled off an enviable string of victories, landing research grants and trialing new medical technologies at his institution in the 1990s and 2000s. But as Lewis moved into his early sixties, the well of his mind had begun to dry up; the brilliant ideas that had kept his hospital competitive came harder to him.

In the meantime, the larger health systems, such as Advocate Health Care and Northwestern Memorial HealthCare, began to absorb the smaller hospitals in the Chicago area. Just as the big fishes swallowed up the small fry in a pond, Brookstone found herself the last surviving independent hospital. The massive conglomerates, with their ability to diversify and specialize care, began to lure Brookstone’s patients away, one by one. As she lost her patient base, her revenues dwindled. For the past two years, she had been operating in the red. The investors turned to Lewis to pull another miracle out of his hat, but to his growing chagrin, no new and amazing ideas came. Despite his repeated assurances to the investors and his attempts to tighten the budget, Brookstone continued to lose revenue, and with it came the loss of faith in Lewis. What made matters worse, some of the physician groups had hinted they were considering leaving Brookstone for greener pastures in the larger health systems.

Lewis found himself attacked on two fronts. On one side was Health Advance Medical System, one of the largest healthcare organizations in Chicago, which was pushing hard for a merger. On the other was Jamison Burns, Brookstone Hospital’s Chairman of the Board and Lewis’s one-time close friend and golf partner, who had been quietly lobbying other members of the board to remove Lewis from office since the beginning of the year. Rumor had it that Burns had attained the requisite number of board members on his side, and was poised to call a vote of no confidence in Lewis’s leadership. Burns had announced an emergency meeting of the Board at eight o’clock that morning, presumably to hold a vote for Lewis’s removal as CEO.

A wave of fury at Burns’s betrayal flowed through Lewis as he turned back to his desk. He had fought too long, given up a marriage of thirty-six years, and sacrificed relationships with his grown children for his position. He wasn’t about to relinquish control of Brookstone to anyone.

Lewis took off his suit jacket and placed it on the back of his leather executive chair. He flicked on the lamp and his desktop flooded with light, revealing a dozen legal-sized folders on the left side of his desk, each of them dealing with the proposed Health Advance merger. Lewis opened his case and took out a folder bearing a sticker with the name Alex Trent. He placed it to his right.

Lewis checked the time again. It was 5:12 now. There was no more to waste. The CEO opened another pocket in his case and removed a couple of 4x4 squares of sterile gauze, a green-handled disposable scalpel, and a roll of Coban, a tan-colored roll of elastic self-adhering wrap. He set the case aside and sat down in his executive chair. Lewis unbuttoned the sleeve of his white dress shirt and rolled it up to expose his forearm. He peeled off the wrapper from the scalpel and pulled off the clear protective sheath from the blade. Light from the lamp glinted off the surgical steel.

Lewis swallowed down a wave of nausea that emerged from the pit of his stomach. He held his breath as he brought the point of the scalpel close to the skin of his forearm. His hand began to tremble as the blade’s edge touched a hair. A sheen of sweat formed on his forehead. He put the scalpel back in its sheath and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. Come on, you can do this, Malcolm. He didn’t want to cut himself, but he had to know the truth, and this was the only way he knew to prove it to himself, first-hand. Lewis glanced at the folder to his right and read the name for the thousandth time.

Alex Trent, you had better be who I think you are.

Lewis took a deep breath and held it. Don’t think about it. Just do it. He jammed the point of the blade into his arm and pressed down until it was half-buried into his flesh. Lewis gritted his teeth and willed himself to hold still as he drew the blade a full inch towards his hand. He exhaled with a sense of mixed triumph and relief as he pulled out the bloodstained scalpel and laid it next to the folder, watching with morbid fascination as blood welled up behind the knife’s edge, like a jet’s vapor trail in a cloudless sky.

A curt knock on his office door startled him out of his trance. Lewis looked at the clock on his desk. It was 5:20. Dammit. Danica’s already here.

He tried to make his voice sound calm, even casual. Just a second. He folded one of the 4x4 pieces of gauze in half, pressed it over the wound, and then wrapped it with the Coban. Lewis pulled open the desk drawer and placed the bloodied scalpel and the remainder of the wrap inside before shutting and locking it.

Another knock. Slightly more insistent. A woman’s voice came from outside the door. Malcolm, is everything all right?

Lewis pulled his sleeve down and began to button the cuff. Yes, of course, everything is all right, Danica. Come in.

His secretary entered the room and paused, uncertainty on her face. Mind if I turn on the room lights? Her fingers felt the wall for the light switch and turned it on.

Danica Sharp was on the dark side of thirty—flirting with forty, in fact. She took great pains not to show it. The combination of her vegan lifestyle, two hours every day in the gym, and a weekly visit to Salon Buzz near North Side assured women guessed her to be in her mid-twenties and men positively drooled over her. A perpetual rumor circling the hospital administration office was that Lewis had been screwing her for years—even before he divorced his wife nearly a decade ago. It wasn’t true, but she didn’t squash the rumors. That would make her look like she was protesting too much.

Danica, you’re here earlier than I expected. Thanks for coming, Lewis said as he finished buttoning his sleeve.

Danica gave her boss one of her trademark Miss America smiles as she strolled towards him. Don’t mention it, Malcolm. I know how much today means to you. Besides, if you win, I’ll get to keep my job, too. She eased her lithe figure onto one of the visitor’s chairs in front of his desk. Want some coffee? I have it brewing already.

Thanks, not right now. Let’s go over what we have on Alex Trent. I want to make doubly sure we’ve got everything straight on him before I make the offer.

Danica breathed an imperceptible sigh. Doubly sure? This is the sixth time we’ve gone over this file in as many days. I’ve looked at his picture so many times I’m starting to see this guy in my dreams. "Of course, Malcolm." She opened the cover of the folder and glanced at the only photo they had of Alex: his hospital employee identification picture. The shot was from the shoulders up, but she could deduce from the picture that he took good care of himself. His hair was dark brown, slightly faded on the sides. A young Matt Bomer with sleepy but kind brown eyes. And a nice smile, she thought as she casually traced her finger along the edge of his jaw.

Did we get a urine test on him? Lewis took his own Trent folder and reviewed the numerous questions scrawled in the margins. He was looking at the same photograph. His eyes are half-mast in this picture—he looks like he’s high. Or drunk. Or both.

Danica flipped several sheets down and nodded. Yes, the test was done. Twice. Once just before he was hired and again when his name came up in the patient chart reports. He was clean both times.

If Lewis was satisfied with her answer, he didn’t show it. Make sure someone from PR takes a new employee picture along with the media headshots as soon as possible. He has to look good and wide awake, with energy to spare. Like a boy scout, all grown-up.

Well, he does have an honest face. I think people will trust him instinctively.

Lewis leaned forward. Did you go over the data again for each case? I’ve got to be sure that he’s the right man. Everything depends on it.

Danica shifted in her seat and crossed her arms. Yes, Malcolm, I’ve checked and rechecked them so many times my vision has started to blur. I think I’ll need to get reading glasses once this is all over. I’ve personally called and spoken to every one of the patients on our list. I asked them if Alex did anything noteworthy. Every one of patients said he gave them wonderful care, but no one said he did anything special or unusual beyond holding their hand or helping them in and out of bed. She purposely ignored the look of annoyance on her boss’s face, but she didn’t want to stress him any more than he already was. There’s no doubt about it in my mind, Malcolm. His name is the only one that keeps on coming up in the reports. He’s the only common denominator in all the cases. He has to be the one.

The CEO flipped to the next page. What did the private investigator I hired come up with about Trent’s past?

Danica flipped a few more pages. Graduated from Lincoln Memorial High School with a 3.9 GPA. He just finished his bachelor’s degree in nursing at the University of Illinois at Chicago with a 3.8 GPA while working near full-time hours as a nurse tech here for the past six months.

What about his work ethic?

Danica wanted to be honest with her boss. Alex Trent was on the verge of being fired for repeatedly showing up to work late. She decided to temper her answer: He’s had a few instances where he has been late for work. According to his parking sticker request form, he does drive an older vehicle, she traced her finger down the sheet until she spotted the item she was looking for, a 2004 Ford Escape. A car that old will have its share of mechanical problems, she added reasonably.

The CEO tented his fingers. I’ll need to have a talk with our young man about the importance of punctuality.

Of course, Malcolm. Danica steered the conversation to a new tack. Otherwise, Mr. Trent’s six-month review says he is a hard worker. According to what I gathered from his manager and peers, he doesn’t mind jumping in to help. He’s well-liked by both patients and hospital staff. He’s even received several outstanding service awards. I think he’ll work well in his new position.

Lewis turned his attention to other concerns. Was anything negative or embarrassing found on social media? I don’t want pictures of him drunk off his ass, snorting cocaine off a hooker’s navel, or mooning some nuns. This hospital can’t afford that kind of publicity…especially now.

Danica shook her head. I had one of our I.T. security personnel check him out on all of the usual sites. They combed through all of the e-mails he’s ever sent from this hospital since he came to work here six months ago. There have been no humiliating pictures, pages, or texts that they’ve been able to dig up. He has no felonies on his record. He did get a speeding ticket last year, though. And, in case you were just thinking of it: no drunk driving convictions.

Good. How about family? Anything I need to be worried about there?

According to the investigator, his father has had no contact with him since he was born. His mother, Paula, works as a postal service worker for one of the offices here in Chicago. She’s been a single parent. Alex lived with her until last fall, when he got the job here in September. He moved in with his girlfriend, Katherine Stratton, in October. They’re living in a little nine hundred square foot house on Wellington Road. Apparently, her grandfather died early last year. He willed the house to her. Here’s a photograph of it. She handed him a picture. It’s no Taj Mahal, but it’s a decent starter home for a couple in their mid-twenties.

Lewis looked at the photo and frowned. Well, Danica, with the jump in salary he’s about to receive, they’ll be able to move out of that dump and find something more respectable. He paused for a moment, then asked, Are they getting married?

No word about that. Katherine’s a kindergarten teacher at a local school. We finally got a picture of her. Here. Danica handed the photo over.

He took it and raised his eyebrows. Wow. Miss Stratton is stunning. Any more information about her?

Danica shook her head. No. You were explicit about focusing the investigator’s efforts on Mr. Trent and his immediate family, right?

The CEO of Brookstone Hospital sighed. Yes, I did, didn’t I? Goddamn Jamison Burns for calling the emergency meeting for this morning. We could have used the weekend to get some more background checks.

Danica bit her lip in frustration with her boss’s obsession with this man. Malcolm, I think that we’ve covered as much as we could on Mr. Trent. He seems as good a man for the position as anyone could hope for. She glanced down at her watch. The board meeting is in two hours, and I have plenty to get to before it starts. She stood up to leave.

Lewis stood too and gave his assistant an appreciative look. Danica, thanks for all the hard work you’ve done for me on this Alex Trent file. I don’t know where I’d be if it weren’t for you.

She nodded with a conciliatory smile. I’ll have everything ready for your presentation by the time Mr. Trent gets here.

Oh, I need for you to do one more thing before the board meeting. Call the nursing home and have the staff bring my mother here by eight. I have a surprise waiting for her.

An assistant’s work is never done, Danica thought to herself. Sure, Malcolm. It’ll be good to see her again. She walked to the door and opened it, but hesitated. A nagging question had sprouted in her mind and grown like a dandelion since Lewis first confided his idea.

Have you decided what you will do if he says no to your offer?

Lewis’s eyes turned to granite. He cannot say no, Danica. ‘No’ isn’t an option here.

Of course, Malcolm. No one in his right mind would ever turn down the deal you’re offering him. Your terms are more than generous.

Lewis softened his gaze. Danica, let’s hope that Mr. Trent can do what we think he can. We need this young man’s cooperation. He may just be the one who will save this hospital, and us.

As Danica nodded her assent and turned to leave, Lewis allowed himself to wince at the throbbing pain in his forearm.

CHAPTER 2

Oh shit!

Alex Trent was running late for work and was doing sixty in a forty-five. He didn’t see the backup of cars until his two-toned Escape—blue with rust flecks—crested over the hill and down a steep grade. He grasped the steering wheel and slammed his foot on the brake, his body straining against the seat belt as the car skidded to a stop on the rain-slicked road. The driver behind him did the same, barely missing hitting Alex’s rear bumper. The driver laid on his horn and yelled out an onslaught of obscenities to underline his road rage.

The thumping inside Alex’s chest slowed as he released his death grip on the wheel. Frustration mixed with a growing curiosity washed away the fear of the moment. He craned his head to the left to see what had stopped the traffic. At the end of a long string of angry red brake lights flashed the red and blue spinners of police cars and a pair of ambulances.

Alex picked up his phone and looked at the time. 6:47 a.m. I can’t be late for work again. My manager’s going to fire me for sure. He sighed. There was nothing he could do except crawl along at a snail’s pace with the other cars.

The two damaged vehicles, a Chevy Malibu and a Kia Optima, were off to the side of the road. Both of their front ends were crumpled, but it didn’t look like there was any intrusion into the passenger compartments in either car. Alex noticed the front airbags had deployed in both of the vehicles. He hadn’t prayed in years, but inwardly, he hoped everyone involved was going to be all right.

As Alex drew closer to the scene of the accident, the red and blue emergency flashers illuminated the concerned faces of the Emergency Medical Technicians as they stabilized their patients’ spines with cervical collars and blood pressures with IV fluids. He recognized one of the medics’ faces instantly. Alex stopped his car and rolled down the window. Hey, Cyan!

Cyan Moore looked up from the paperwork he was completing and grinned as he strolled over to the Escape. Running late to work again?

Alex nodded and said wryly, At least I can say it wasn’t my fault this time. He nodded towards the wrecked vehicles with a look of concern. Anyone hurt?

Cyan ran his fingers through his black low-faded hair. He regarded Alex with the clear blue eyes he’d inherited from his Jamaican mother. The two drivers will be all right. The guy in the Malibu took his insulin but didn’t eat anything for breakfast because he was in a hurry. His blood sugar was only thirty-two, and he passed out. He veered into the oncoming lane and hit the lady in the Optima. Luckily she managed to brake in time, so neither of them was seriously hurt. My partner and I are taking them to Brookstone. It’s the closest facility from here.

The driver behind Alex sounded his horn again and let out a string of expletives that would make a sailor blush. Cyan turned and affected a serious look to keep the irate driver at bay. He held up his hand. Hold on, sir. We’ll have you moving in just a minute. He turned back to Alex and smiled. You up for getting a couple of beers after work? We need to celebrate your graduation.

Alex winced. Can we do it tomorrow? Kat says she has something special planned for me tonight.

Well, if I had a girlfriend that looked like Kat, I wouldn’t turn down an offer like that for all the beer in Chicago. No problem, Alex. I’ll take a rain check from you. Hell, I’ll even pay for the bar tab even though I’m still pissed at you for not becoming a paramedic. I still think we would’ve made a damn good team.

I know, Cy. I would have. But I’ve got to follow the money.

Cyan waved his friend on with a good-natured smirk. Yeah. Get out of here, you greedy bastard. See you later.

Alex pulled into the first parking spot he could find and sprinted to the staffing office. The clock on the wall read 7:11 a.m. Damn, eleven minutes late. Alex glanced around the corner and relaxed a little when he realized his manager was nowhere in sight.

Behind the desk sat a plus-sized woman. Her thick jet-black hair cascaded off her shoulders. She shook her head while giving Alex a knowing smile.

Alex whispered, Hey, Jazz. Is the Boss Lady here yet? That was the nickname that everyone in the office called Lorraine Potts, the manager of the central staffing office.

Jasmine Juarez plucked a red pen from behind her ear and scribbled the time down next to his name on the roster. She sure is, and she’s on the warpath. You’re late for the sixth time, Alex.

I’m up shit creek, aren’t I?

And I don’t have a paddle to give you, either. Sorry, Alex. Lorraine says she wants to see you in her office, pronto. But before you go, here. Jazz reached down below her desk and produced a splotchy gray cardboard box. She placed it on the counter and lifted the lid, revealing several frosted and glazed doughnuts. More than half of them were gone. She pointed to a glazed doughnut with brown sprinkles. You’d better take one. It might be your last meal after she’s done with you.

Alex swallowed down the lump that formed in his throat as a wave of nausea came over him. The grease spots on the sides of the box didn’t help. He smiled wanly as he held up his hand. Thanks, Jazz. I think I’ll pass this time.

She shook the box like she was enticing her Pomeranian to roll over for a dog biscuit. You sure? I got the cinnamon glazed one just for you, she crooned.

Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks. Maybe later, okay? I’d better see Lorraine now.

Jasmine cocked her head towards the door behind her. She’s in her office. Go ahead.

Thanks, Jazz.

The secretary smiled. Sure thing, Alex. Good luck. It was nice knowing you.

Alex felt his stomach going through the wringer as he skirted around Jazz’s desk and walked to the door. He knocked politely and waited.

Come. Lorraine Potts’s gruff voice was like a command from a sentry to a military dog. Alex took a deep breath and walked into the room.

The office of Lorraine Potts held all the personality of an unused jail cell. No family pictures sat on the desk. No calendars hung on the wall. The only thing green was a fake ficus from IKEA that sat alone in the corner like a misbehaving child on a time-out. An obligatory steel desk and chair combination dominated the floor. In front of the desk sat two poorly padded chairs. Alex sat down on the closest one and instantly felt even more uncomfortable. The Marquis de Sade must have designed the seat, Alex thought—it was guaranteed to make a person’s back ache and their ass numb after just five minutes of sitting.

The Boss Lady looked up from her work. Her face soured.

Alex gave her his most penitent look and held his hands out, palms up. Hey, Lorraine. Look, I’m sorry about being late. There was this accident—

Potts cut off Alex’s excuse with a raise of her hand. Never mind about your being late. You need to go to the administration building. Malcolm Lewis wants you to report to his office. Immediately.

The hairs on the back of Alex’s neck stood at attention. The CEO wants to see me? What for?

I don’t know. But you’d better get over there now. Mr. Lewis has been waiting for you since seven o’clock.

Which floor do you want me to work on after I get done there?

You don’t have a floor assignment. Mr. Lewis’s secretary wouldn’t tell me how long he would keep you. If they tell you to come back here, I’ll figure something out. I’m sure there will be a suicidal patient for you to watch somewhere.

Indignation rose up inside Alex. He wasn’t a nurse tech anymore. He was a graduate nurse now—and would soon be a registered nurse, providing he passed the NCLEX licensing examination he took a week ago. Registered nurses weren’t assigned to sit with suicidal patients in the hospital. That job was for nurse techs and sitters. No sense in risking being fired for insubordination, though. He was late, after all. Holding back a retort, Alex stood and headed for the door, saying, Okay. I’ll be back as soon as I can.

And Alex?

He turned to look at her. Yes, Lorraine?

Don’t waste your time getting to his office. Don’t stop to take a leak or get a cup of coffee. You’re already late to meet Mr. Lewis. Understand?

Damn, give me a break, Lorraine. I already feel like a condemned man being led to his execution. He nodded to his boss. I’m going straight there.

CHAPTER 3

Alex was slightly short of breath as he hustled towards to the Administration Building. The entry doors slid open and Alex stepped into the foyer. He passed by the men’s bathroom and fought the urge to run in and comb his hair. He brought his hand in front of his mouth and checked his breath. Smells okay. He glanced at his phone. 7:26. He slowed to a casual walk as he approached the frosted glass door with the plaque that read:

BROOKSTONE HOSPITAL

ADMINISTRATIVE OFFICE

MALCOLM E. LEWIS

CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER

Alex’s heart thumped wildly in his chest as he opened the door and stepped into the office. The receptionist, an attractive brunette, stood up, smoothed her charcoal gray sheath dress and blazer, and flashed her best smile at him. Good morning. You must be Mr. Trent. She walked over and shook his hand. Her handshake was cool but oddly pleasant.

That’s me.

My name is Danica Sharp. I’m Mr. Lewis’s executive assistant. Please have a seat. He is taking a call right now, but he will be with you shortly. Would you like coffee? Bottled water?

Alex thought that if he put anything into his stomach right then, he would puke it straight back out. No, thanks. I’m just fine.

Danica gave him a closed-mouthed smile and a curt nod. Very well. She went back to her desk and proceeded to go over some documents. Alex sat down and gazed at an imposing glass case that housed a plethora of plaques and awards that the hospital and Malcolm Lewis had achieved over the years. He tried to read the inscriptions, but his mind kept wandering back to the same question. What does the CEO want with me? He wracked his memory, but couldn’t come up with anything significant he had done to explain his predicament. For a moment, he focused his concentration towards Danica Sharp, trying to read her mind. But it was of no use. He didn’t have any psychic powers. He summoned up the courage to ask her the question that was gnawing on his brain.

Excuse me, Ms. Sharp?

She looked up from the document she was reviewing. Yes?

Do you know why Mr. Lewis wants to see me? I’m kind of at a loss here.

I’m not at liberty to say, but I’m sure that you will find out soon. Just be patient a few minutes longer. She’d barely got the words out when a muted buzz sounded on her intercom. She punched a button and looked at Alex. Ah. He’s ready to see you now. Please come with me. She opened the door to Lewis’s office and led him in. Mr. Lewis, Alex Trent.

Alex looked upon Malcolm Lewis, the CEO of Brookstone Hospital, and his tension lessened when he saw a broad smile come over the man’s tanned face. Ah, thank you, Danica. I’ll call you if we need anything. His voice was a pleasant baritone that exuded confidence and warmth.

Yes, Mr. Lewis, she replied as she closed the door.

Lewis beamed and stroked his white goatee as he took a look at his guest for the first time. He raised his fit six-foot frame out of the leather chair and moved to meet him. Alex! Alex Trent. Finally, we get to meet. Lewis reached out and shook Alex’s hand while he spoke unhurriedly. Thank you so much for taking the time out of your day, and for taking such excellent care of your patients. I’ve heard many great things about you, young man.

Alex relaxed and smiled. It’s my pleasure, Mr. Lewis. Thank you for inviting me.

Lewis placed his left hand over Alex’s and renewed the vigor of the handshake. Alex noticed the CEO’s grip was warm. Not at all. I enjoy meeting as many new employees as I can find the time. By the way, I understand that congratulations are in order. I hear that you graduated with honors with a bachelor’s degree in nursing from the University of Illinois here in Chicago, is that right?

Yes, a couple of weeks ago.

And have you taken the NCLEX test to get your license yet?

Last weekend, sir.

How well did you think that you did on it? Do you have a gut feeling about it?

Alex shrugged. I think I did well. The test stopped after I answered seventy-eight questions. The minimum I had to answer was seventy-five. I figure that either I answered most of them correctly to pass or I answered a lot of them wrong and failed the test. I felt pretty confident that I got most of them right. He felt Lewis’s grip become get firmer as they talked. There was a momentary pause in the conversation, and Alex became uneasy. It’s been over a minute, and we’re still shaking hands. What’s going on with this guy? He wanted to pull his hand away but didn’t want to seem rude.

Malcolm Lewis grinned. Well, I am positive that a man with your intellect will pass the examination without any difficulty. He let go of Alex’s hand and gestured towards one of the visitor’s chairs. Alex, please have a seat. I’m sure that you want to know why I had you come here today.

I was wondering about that.

I assure you that I will tell you everything. Could you excuse me for a couple of minutes?

Sure, no problem.

Thanks. I’ll just be a moment. Please let Danica know if you need anything.

Lewis walked into his private bathroom and closed the door. There wasn’t much time: the board meeting was due to start in less than five minutes. He slipped off his suit coat and