Chapter Six Sunnydale, Florida
Chapter Six
Sunnydale, Florida
Pensacola, Florida
Three hundred miles from Tempe, Arizona, the Sunnydale Care Center in Silver City, New Mexico was admitting a new resident: Michael Lowery, age eighty-eight.
Lowery was recovering from a stroke. His eyesight was poor, matched by equally failing hearing.
With no family to oversee his admission, he relied on the intake associate to walk him through the paperwork.
He guided Lowery’s hand as he signed where the yellow tabs were placed on the pages.
“I suppose I should have asked you this sooner, but could you read that fine print to me?” Lowery asked with watery eyes.
“Of course, Mr. Lowery. It says that you are putting your estate in our custody so that we can manage your bills and investments.”
Lowery pursed his lips. “For as long as I’m here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The doctors told me it could be several months before I regain more mobility.”
“If you behave and do the physical therapy.” The associate nodded and gave him a reassuring smile.
“Oh, yes. They said I have come a long way since the stroke, but still got a ways to go.”
“Have you considered our assisted living accommodations?”
“I was living at Coventry, but after the stroke, they said I had to come here for some kind of long-term rehabilitation.”
“Correct. I can arrange for a tour if you’d like. You’ll need a place to live once you are completely back on your feet.”
“Good point. Not sure how much walking I can do, though.”
“Not to worry. We have ramps and can take you around in a wheelchair. Just to be safe.”
“I think that sounds like a good plan. Sign me up.”
Little did he know he signed away his entire fortune, something this facility had mastered.
Regina was busy checking the list of social security deposits.
There were thirty-seven accounts she had to keep track of: each in a different person’s name, each with a power of attorney, but all under the umbrella of Sunnydale.
She didn’t ask any questions, for which she was rewarded with an outstanding bonus three times a year.
All she knew was that the main part of the residential community was funded by a philanthropic organization and supplemented by personal income from the senior living residents.
The medical center and longterm care were funded by grants from the government.
It was a nice place to work. Almost like a country club. One of the big perks was the meals. She got to eat at the fine-dining restaurant, or the café, depending on her shift.
At twenty-three, Regina was living the life.
She was making almost three times as much as her friends, if you included her bonuses.
Occasionally she would notify the pension plan or the social security system if somebody passed away, but at Sunnydale, people lived longer than the usual life expectancy.
Regina was convinced it was the great care, service, and atmosphere that contributed to their longevity.
Regina had no idea that over twenty percent of the checks that were being deposited were for people who were dead.
Unless she was instructed to inform the payees of the client’s passing, the checks kept coming until someone in “upper management” decided it was time to cut off the money train.
Collecting social security for people who were over ninety-five could send up a red flag, especially when the checks were being deposited into the same bank account.
Not that anyone would notice, but the powers that be did not want to take a chance.
Besides, when one person died, another one would be signed up until their last breath.
Even then, the care center continued to collect pensions, insurance, whatever, until they decided to pull the plug, no pun intended.
The only issue was the timing. They could only siphon social security for one month after the person actually died.
It was tough keeping a dead body intact. Three weeks, tops.
Meanwhile, Regina processed invoices and logged payments that she assumed were legitimate. There was no reason for her to question anything.
It had been a seamless operation for the past five years. The two complexes operated smoothly. The employees were well compensated, and a nondisclosure was a prerequisite to work for the company.
Sunnydale was under the umbrella of several offshore accounts and shell companies.
Sunnydale was also particular about who could live and die there.
They vetted applicants to find those that suited their agenda, particularly those who wanted or needed to move into the assisted or long-term care part of the operation.
It would take an army of Miss Marples, Hercule Poirots, and Columbos to unravel the web of deceit.
Jeremy Sykes had been doing the monthly inventory in the pharmacy of Sunnydale’s long-term care facility.
He double-checked the bill of lading. It was the third month in a row that one of the shipments of OxyContin, Vicodin, codeine, and morphine was short.
He made his third phone call to the pharmaceutical company’s sales representative, and for the third time he got a baleful of excuses and apologies.
It wasn’t a substantial amount, but enough to hinder several patients’ ability to withstand pain.
Even one missed dose could be excruciating for someone who is suffering.
He finally complained to his boss, and a week later Jeremy was given notice.
He was told they were changing to an automated system, and his services would no longer be required.
For Jeremy, this was a low blow. He had just finished paying off his student loan.
The next project was to tackle his credit card debt.
Now he’d have to use his cards even more.
Sunnydale gave him a decent exit package, but the situation felt like it came out of nowhere.
There had been no talk about automation.
No heads-up. Something wasn’t right. Could it have had something to do with the pharmaceutical issue?
If yes, why? He was simply doing his job.
That was his first mistake. The second was signing a nondisclosure exit agreement.
As he was walking out, carrying the small box of his personal belongings, he ran into Regina from the administration office.
“Jeremy, I am so sorry to see you go.” Regina had been the one to hand him his last paycheck earlier that morning.
“Yeah. That’s life, I guess,” he said. The distress in his voice was evident. “I’ll manage.”
“I wish there was something I could do for you.” Regina was being sincere. She had no way of knowing the sinful machinations behind the facade of Sunnydale. On the surface, everything was legitimate.
“When did you hear about the automation thing?” he asked, as he placed the box into the trunk of his car.
“What automation thing?” Regina furrowed her brow.
“That was the reason she gave me for letting me go.”
“Huh. She didn’t give me any information, just said to cut Jeremy a check, and told me the amount. Didn’t say why. None of my business.”
“But you hadn’t heard about any upgrade in the systems?”
“Nothing. I suppose I should know those things, since I oversee the invoices. But no. Nothing technical that I’ve seen so far.”
Jeremy twisted his mouth. “Okay. But do me a favor?”
“If I can,” Regina replied.
“Let me know if you find out anything? I mean, I’m not asking you to put yourself in jeopardy.
But anything you can share would be appreciated.
I’d like to know what kind of technological competition is out there.
Since I’ll be looking for another job, I don’t want to start somewhere and have the same thing happen again. ”
“Sure thing, Jeremy. Take care. Good luck with everything.”
“Thanks, Regina. You take care, too.” Jeremy slammed the trunk closed and walked to the driver’s side of the car. He gave Regina one last wave.
When Regina returned to her desk, her supervisor was standing in the office. “Hello, Mrs. Clayton.”
“Hello, Regina. I noticed you speaking with Jeremy a few minutes ago.”
“Yes. Just saying goodbye.”
“What did the two of you talk about?”
“Nothing, really. I wished him good luck.”
“Did he say anything to you?”
Regina shook her head. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Please do not have any further conversations with former employees. Understood?” Clayton was within a breath of intimidating her.
“Shh-sure,” Regina stuttered. She had never had an encounter with anyone over an ex-employee. The more she thought about it, she realized Jeremy was the only person she ever had a conversation with after they got their package.
“Good. We value you here at Sunnydale,” Clayton said in a veiled threat.
Regina got the message. But why?
Several days later, Regina saw an article about a terrible accident on a highway just outside of Pensacola. The driver was in critical condition. His name: Jeremy Sykes. Regina’s hands began to tremble as she continued to read the story.
When medics arrived on the scene, the driver, Sykes, claimed he was run off the road by a dump truck traveling at a high rate of speed.
The victim then lapsed into a state of unconsciousness.
So far, there were no signs of the driver or the truck.
Anyone with any information should contact the local police authorities.
Regina was in a terrible state. She wanted to reach out, but then thought about Clayton’s warning. She prayed there was something she could do without jeopardizing her job at Sunnydale.