Chapter Forty-Four Mildred Maddox
Chapter Forty-Four
Mildred Maddox
Mildred left Roger at the club restaurant and took the golf cart back to the house. She had played poorly and told their friends
that she was feeling under the weather.
The truth was, she had too many things on her mind. If there was any hint that the Neurovantix trial was tainted, it would
kill the sale. There would be investigations and lawsuits and she would be dealing with that for years. It would go through
next week as long as the Angelharts hadn’t learned the truth.
How had they found Tim Miller? That question had kept her up half the night.
Mildred had told Peter not to involve anyone else. Too many people created potential leaks. But Peter needed Miller because
of the problems with the medical records. All because Devin, that bastard, had started to complain that some of his patients
had bad reactions to the Phase 1 drug formulation.
Tim Miller, the administrator’s nephew. Mildred figured the greedy tech nerd wouldn’t talk, and he shouldn’t have known enough
to incriminate anyone, except maybe Peter. Still, she couldn’t be certain.
She had thought her performance for the Angelharts had bought her time, and perhaps innocence. What accomplished, mature woman such as herself would be party to anything violent?
But now, she was concerned. Because Peter was a wild card. He knew too much. They needed him dead. Sooner, not later.
They had agreed not to kill Margo three and a half years ago because of the real fear that Cooper Angelhart had information
that could harm them. If they went after anyone in his family, he might have talked. That he believed they would kill kept
him quiet. Perhaps the death of the nurse had loosened his lips. Except—he couldn’t have known about Tim Miller. Could he?
No. Impossible. They found the medical records tech another way.
This entire week had started wrong and went south quickly, all because Novak had a standing appointment to check his prosthetic
arm.
Not knowing information was driving her crazy, and thinking about all the potential problems was giving her a headache.
Sal called her as she pulled the golf cart into her garage. This couldn’t be good; he never called her.
“Yes?” she answered.
“Carter was shot. He’s in critical condition. They don’t expect him to survive, but one of his girlfriends is the one who
called the ambulance, and the police are all over his house.”
“He wouldn’t be so foolish to have anything incriminating.”
“I doubt it.”
“Doubt? Or know?”
“He didn’t call me as he usually does after a job. I looked into it, and Tim Miller was shot in Flagstaff, but is expected
to recover. He’ll give Peter’s name if he hasn’t already. Two people were questioned by the police. Want to bet they were
Angelharts?” he muttered with contempt.
“But,” Sal added, “the primary reason I’m concerned is that Carter is legally on my payroll. The police are going to investigate because he was shot, and they will ask me questions.”
“Are you going to be safe?”
“Yes,” he said. “Unless Peter talks. I sent someone else after him, but he’s not at home. Carter was the best, but my backup
is good.”
“He ran, that weasel,” Mildred said.
“Probably.”
“Roger and I are leaving for Australia tomorrow morning. I’ll let you know when we are settled. Be careful, Sal.”
“You too, Mildred.”
She ended the call and entered her town house through the laundry room. Put her bag down on the counter, retrieved a cold
bottle of water, and headed to her office. She hadn’t wanted to travel until Monday because transferring money was more difficult
on the weekends, especially the amounts she would need, but she couldn’t risk that Peter would talk to the police to save
his own ass.
Never trust a gambler.
Peter Stockman was sitting at her computer.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Getting what’s mine before the shit hits the fan.”
He had a gun and it was aimed at her.
“I have given you everything for sixteen years and you point a gun at me?”
“Like you didn’t tell your brother that I can’t be trusted.”
Mildred didn’t say a word. How did Peter know Sal was her brother? They didn’t socialize, were never seen together, except
at the club. She was a patron of the establishment, no one would think that she had more than a professional acquaintance
with Sal.
Had Peter . . . investigated her?
That was the only way, if he had dug into her background because he wanted leverage.
She hated the man. After everything she had done for him, he betrays her.
“What do you want?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“Tim Miller is talking about me. Carter didn’t do his fucking job, and Tim is going to blab. He doesn’t have proof, but it’s enough to have the feds asking
questions. Unless you want me to share what I know about your involvement in covering up the real results of the Phase 1 trial
and how you modified the drug and changed the documentation on the original formulation, then you’re going to transfer one
million dollars into my account.”
“I can’t transfer that kind of money. I’m not that liquid.”
“Bullshit.”
“I can give you fifty thousand right now to walk away and never show your face again.”
He barked out a laugh. “You owe me far more than fifty thousand, Mildred. I was going to get fifty million next week when we sold Neurovantix! Fifty fucking million.” He slammed his fist on the desk with each word. “I should have known this was going to blow up in our faces.”
“It blew up because you had Liz Swanson killed in broad daylight. Shot in front of her house! You couldn’t even be patient
enough to create a believable accident!”
“Hey, that’s not on me.”
Except it was, Mildred thought. This man was rash. Rash men were dangerous men.
“I don’t know what you want me to do,” she said. “My bank will not let me transfer more than fifty thousand from my business
account. My personal account has a ten thousand daily limit without prior approval. You’ll just have to live with it.”
“No, you’ll have to live with it. Transfer sixty thousand now and on Monday you’ll get me the rest. But mark my words, if you try to screw me in any way, I give the police everything.”
“Do not threaten me.”
“You have far more to lose than I do,” he snapped. “Do it. Now. My account numbers are right there waiting for you.”
As much as it galled her to give this traitor a dime, this would buy her time.
She had intentionally retired to distance herself from the VA and the Neurovantix trial so that she could profit off it after
the sale next week. She owned the private company through a shell corporation. It would take a lot of digging to connect Neurovantix
to her, and by that time she would have already sold it.
She had to hold tight to the fact that the sale would still go through. It was Saturday—in no world she knew did the feds
act this fast. The drug would be approved as promised on Monday, and twenty-four hours later a half-billion dollars would
be deposited in her account from the buyer she already had lined up.
If Peter thought he was getting a dime of what she had promised four years ago, he was mistaken. Because he would be dead.
Her brother was going to have to join her in leaving the country. She couldn’t risk Peter turning him in.
At one time, she had respected Peter. He was smart, wily, driven. She detested his gambling habits, but she couldn’t argue
with his foresight and knowledge related to pharmaceutical interventions. They had made a substantial amount of money together
through Hollander & Wyck.
She should have cut him loose when she learned he had lost most of his profit through gambling.
Except . . . when the Phase 1 drug trial started to fall apart, it was Peter who had identified the formulation error and fixed it. It would have worked too if Devin Klein hadn’t been monitoring his patients so closely.
Damn him. It was Devin’s fault.
She sat down at her desk and logged into her personal account. Peter watched over her shoulder, snorted. She had logged into
her checking account, where she only had fifteen thousand. Her savings and money market were more substantial, not to mention
her investment accounts. But she wasn’t going to share any of that information with Peter.
She transferred the money. Next, she logged into her business account.
“You have fourteen million? You’re going to have to do much better than a million.”
She fumed. She despised this man with all her being.
She transferred the fifty thousand to his account.
“I will be back for the rest of the money. Do not try anything. And if anything happens to me? My safe-deposit box has all
the evidence to put you and Sal away. It goes straight to the feds.”
She believed him. While she detested this man, he was cunning. He would have something that pointed to her.
“Fine,” she said through clenched teeth. “Now go.”
She pointed to the door. He laughed and walked backward toward the door.
That’s when she saw Roger.
He stood there with his gun. She had never seen her husband so angry. He must have come in shortly after her, because she’d
only been home for fifteen minutes.
As soon as Peter turned toward Roger, Roger fired twice. Peter’s gun went off, and Mildred screamed.