Chapter Forty-Seven
Huxley
What I hate most in life is doing the right thing, only to have it kick me in the teeth. I almost wish I hadn’t stopped Grace when she opened her mouth to speak last weekend. Then I’d at least know what her first, unfiltered impulse might’ve been.
Now she’s thinking. She hasn’t given me a single hint as to where her thoughts are headed, and I can’t ask because I told her I’d wait. Who would’ve thought my patience was so limited?
But I don’t dare rush her. Our future is a serious matter, and requires serious consideration.
“Your coffee, and the documents you asked for.” Claude, my new assistant, places a cup of fresh java and the old posters and spreads from The Origin campaigns spanning two decades. The new client apparently doesn’t believe in digital copies, only paper.
“Thanks.”
He smiles and returns to the desk that used to be occupied by Madison. Claude is young and without a lot of experience, but that works to his advantage, since he doesn’t have any bad habits from previous employment. I can train and mold him into the perfect assistant. The kid works hard and he’s smart. If he shows creative talent, I might later move him to another division. Madison would’ve had the same opportunity to advance if she hadn’t said she didn’t have a single creative bone in her body.
My phone rings with a call from my accountant. What’s this about? He never calls unless it’s important.
“Hello, Earl,” I say.
“Good afternoon, Huxley.” His mild voice is almost a cliché for a proper professor or accountant. He always greets me with good morning or good afternoon, even though whatever he’s about to say is going to turn the day into a shit-fest. “I’m calling because I’ve observed some, ah, irregularities with the trust you set up for your mother-in-law’s care at Johns Hopkins.”
I sit up straight, a tight knot in my gut. The care Grace’s mother’s getting at Johns Hopkins is too important. “What irregularities?”
“The invoices are suspect. The address and the invoice numbers seem off. I noticed because my own mother-in-law was also at Johns Hopkins for a stroke.”
“So? Call and fix them,” I say, irritated that he spiked my anxiety for nothing.
“That’s the thing. Every time I call the number on the invoice, it sends me to voicemail, saying everyone’s busy. And nobody ever gets back to me, even though I’ve left detailed messages each time. So I finally called the main number I got off their website. Guess what? There’s no patient under the name of Winona Lain.”
“ What? ” The moment stretches as my heartbeat accelerates. What the hell… Did Nelson take Winona out of the hospital and install her elsewhere? No, that doesn’t make sense. Grace would’ve known. “Are they sure?”
“That’s what I asked. I told the young lady on the phone she must be mistaken, because I have outstanding invoices for a patient named Winona Lain.” He lets out a long, slow breath. “But she said as far as their computer records show, the last time Dr. Blum saw Winona was a year ago.”