Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Wednesday morning started the same as Tuesday—with a phone call—but she was still on the road en route to her office. She picked up the phone absently, concerned about making it in time for her first in a long line of appointments with subjects in the clinical drug trial.
When Dr. Hogarth’s voice boomed in her ear, it hit her as if he were a psycho from a horror movie. I know your mother is sick, he’d said. Her heart lurched to a pounding staccato beat and her stomach whirled with acid.
“Dr. Morneau, you’re running late today?
Never mind, I’m glad I caught you before you got to the clinic.
I’ve taken care of everything. No need to worry about the problem.
” He paused. She didn’t know what to say to that.
A sour taste rose to her mouth. She gripped the wheel as if it were his neck and squeezed. She forced a shaky breath.
“Good morning, Doctor. I’m not sure what you mean. Please explain.” She didn’t dare shout at him to leave her alone, that she’d take care of any problems herself.
“After I presented the generous check from an anonymous donor to the trustees I addressed the research committee and told them we needed to hire an assistant to help you. I told them that due to the secrecy of the research, there were added administrative burdens and practical implications that caused logistical glitches. And I told them that you needed a bonus.”
“You what? They didn’t—”
“They most certainly did. You can thank me by splitting the bonus. And by splitting it—I mean signing it over to me. I think that’s fair for all the help I’m giving you to keep all the secrets about your research.
” He paused and she felt too strangled to respond.
Blackmail. Her boss was blackmailing her.
“Don’t worry. There’ll be enough money to buy the additional embryonic stem cell material you need to make more EM-HG-1. To make up for the vials you lost.” He paused again. She reined in her urge to tell him to go to hell as her gut twisted in a reminder why she couldn’t. Not now anyway.
“Well? Do you agree to the arrangement?”
She spoke in a tight voice, barely able to contain the explosion of dark emotions clenching her heart. “Do I have a choice?”
“I don’t see one. Your assistant, Dr. Lisa Cooper, starts today. She can help you with the subjects you have scheduled at the clinic. I checked your status and saw that you signed on another subject—a John Doe. I assume you’ll need to take personal care of John Doe to ensure his anonymity.”
“Yes.” Her heart pounded and she reminded herself he couldn’t possibly know who John Doe was, nor could he possibly know that John Doe was the anonymous donor. “Anything else?” She wanted to end this call. She needed to scream.
“I’ll see you Saturday evening at the Trustees soiree.
” He ended the call. She threw her phone.
It bounced off the passenger window of her car and onto the floor.
She felt like pulling over to the side of the road so she could vomit.
She slowed the car and took the upcoming off-ramp, not knowing or caring where it led, and pulled into the gas station on the right.
Then she lowered her head against the steering wheel and heaved a sob.
Her stomach churned. She couldn’t believe how far and how bad things had gotten.
If he ever found out who John Doe was, she’d be cooked.
He would hold that secret over both their heads.
It didn’t take a big leap to connect the addition of the John Doe subject with the anonymous donor since they happened in the same day.
She knew Hogarth suspected her. It would be all over if she was caught taking money from a subject.
Allowing subjects to buy their way into a study was bad, especially this study.
Especially a professional athlete. Trent would be compromised as well. She forced a deep breath. Blackmail.
She only needed two more months of the initial drug trials and then it would be analysis and cranking numbers and writing up the results and requesting approval for another grant for a larger scale trial.
If her insides didn’t disintegrate from ulcers before then.
NIH and the FDA had promised they could take off the veil of secrecy for the second trial if all went well.
Blackmail was not her idea of things going well. No matter how she clenched and tightened and fought it, tears sprang and ran down her face. Her stomach heaved. She had no right to feel sorry for herself. She had gotten herself into this mess.
She never should have taken the EM-HGH-1 from the lab. Not even to treat her mother.