CHAPTER THREE

A few minutes later, Tulip ushered a tall man into the conference room. He wasn’t just tall. He was gargantuan. His eyebrows jutted like ledges over a pair of caves, out of which stared two intense gray eyes. In that article where HWA had expressed interest in buying them several years ago, Jack remembered reading that Haines was from rural North Carolina, had been a six-foot-eleven basketball star at Duke, got an MD from Stanford, and did an internal medicine residency at Boston University while earning an MBA at Harvard. He’d founded HWA on a shoestring twenty years ago and built it into one of the nation’s largest healthcare networks, mainly operating in the South and Southeast. He was also an accomplished pilot who flew the company jet and kept a helicopter in his backyard.

As they shook hands, Jack felt as if his own was being swallowed by a whale.

The meeting lasted an hour. After Haines departed, Jan, Bentley, and Jack reconvened in Jan’s office. Jack still felt the pressure of Haines’s parting handshake.

“Okay, gentlemen,” she said. “Before I present this to the board, I want your opinions. Martin, you first.”

Bentley tapped his lower lip and smiled. “I think we’ve just been thrown the mother of all lifelines. Kudos to you, Jan. Kudos. HWA’s offer will relieve our unexpected debt load and bolster our endowment. It’s true that the university will no longer be able to boast of having its own hospital and medical school, but the med center was never a profit center. Plus, he believes that his contacts in DC can help lubricate the regulatory approval process. I’m in. A hundred percent.”

Jack had been watching Jan’s face, which had remained neutral. She swung her gaze toward him. “And you? You stayed awfully quiet throughout.”

“As a mouse,” said Bentley.

Jack inhaled and forced his muscles to relax. “But I was listening,” he said. “And this is what I heard. HWA will turn the research labs into nursing home beds. HWA will outsource half our administrative jobs to their central office. HWA will increase the number of medical students while lowering admission standards. HWA will raise tuition, slash the faculty, move many classes online, give up the non-primary care residency programs and—”

Bentley made a chopping motion with his hand. “Forester, we both heard it all too. I think Dr. Haines is a refreshing fountain of cost-saving ideas. What’s your point?”

Jack swallowed back his burgeoning anger, trying to keep his voice even. “My point is that we are one of the finest small-city academic medical centers in the country. We’ve had a Nobel Prize winner on our faculty. We draw great med student and residency applicants, and we consistently punch above our weight in NIH grants. That’ll all vanish. A hundred and twenty-five years of history up in smoke. Not to mention that he’ll cut the workforce by about nine hundred jobs.”

“But it won’t affect you,” Bentley said, a bushy eyebrow rising sarcastically. “As Dr. Haines mentioned, you can stay as dean. If anything, your job would be even easier. I should have thought you’d appreciate that.”

“Jack, you can slap him if you like,” Jan said, grimly.

“Only kidding,” said Bentley.

Jack looked away, gathering his thoughts before responding. “I’d like to propose an alternative.”

“This is no time for frivolous brainstorming,” Bentley said.

Jan held up her hand. “What are you proposing, Jack? Please make it brief.”

Jack nodded and described meeting someone at a conference in San Diego several months ago, a venture capitalist who had sought him out to discuss partnering in the creation of a genomic research center powered by artificial intelligence at New Canterbury. It would be similar to the one at the University of Leiden in the Netherlands, which was turning out great work and finding financial success.

“Interesting,” said Jan. “Who was he?”

“Damian Falconi. He and I’ve exchanged emails and talked about meeting after the first of the year.”

She smiled. “Yes, Damian Falconi. I crossed paths with him a few times on the West Coast. Impressive individual.” She glanced at Bentley. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of him, but Falconi runs a venture group out of Oakland that wields something like fifty billion dollars. Jack, let’s hear more.”

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the fact that genomic medicine aims to fix the root cause of diseases by resetting DNA base sequences at the gene level. The surface has barely been scratched. The idea would be to create a research center here that laser-focuses on genomic treatments using the full power of AI. We’d be among the first to take up the challenge in earnest. We’re talking about expanding our workforce, about generating local high-tech spin-off businesses, about building something instead of selling out.”

Bentley sighed and glanced toward the ceiling. “Why would anyone pour millions into such an enterprise here in New Canterbury? Last time I drove down to Manhattan, it took me twenty minutes just to reach the bleeping interstate.”

Jack nodded. “I asked Falconi the same question. He said that being off the beaten trail means fewer political hurdles and more tax breaks. It doesn’t matter where something like this is based. All that’s needed is a high-quality academic research infrastructure and fiber optic broadband, and we’ve got both.”

Bentley’s color was darkening. “Forester, if this is such a golden opportunity, why didn’t you bring it forward earlier?”

“That’s a fair question,” said Jan.

Jack’s face warmed. “Because I had no idea our finances were about to collapse.” Though this was true, Jack had to admit to himself that he’d let things languish.

“So now the beast is stirring,” Bentley said. “At a minute to midnight.”

“This is intriguing, nevertheless,” Jan said, drumming her nails. “Falconi’s group certainly has deep enough pockets to stabilize our situation. No question. Lord knows I’d rather see progress than dissolution. The question is whether it could patch the hull before we slip beneath the waves.”

Jack leaned toward her. “What have we got to lose by giving it a try?”

“Everything,” hissed Bentley. “Arranging a deal could take months. Dr. Haines said he’d sign a letter of agreement tomorrow. This could scare him away.”

“Highly unlikely,” said Jan, drumming her nails. “I thought we were going to have to put a drool bucket in front of him.”

“Exactly,” said Bentley. “I doubt he’d take kindly to this, Forester. If this falls through and we end up selling to HWA, you could likely kiss your chance of staying on here goodbye.”

“I understand the implications,” Jack said.

Jan turned to him. “When did you last communicate with Falconi?”

“Several weeks ago.”

“Okay,” she said, pressing her palms onto the table and rising to her feet. “I’d be willing to give us two weeks to come up with the outline of a deal with him. That’s all the time we can afford. Are you up to this, Jack?”

He nodded. “Absolutely.”

“I want progress reports twice a day,” she said, reaching out and shaking his hand. “In the meantime, we need to tell the troops something about this whole situation. I’m going to release a memo today. It will simply state that unexpected financial issues have arisen, more to follow, etc. In the meantime, we’ll start drawing up a strategy for public relations in the event we must take HWA’s offer.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling,” said Bentley. “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. A lot can happen in two weeks, and we’ll be dipping into the endowment even to wait that long. But it’s your call, Jan. You’ll have to answer to the board.”

“That’s right,” she said, taking a navy-blue overcoat from a hanger on the wall. “It’s my call. I’m going to go talk with the chairman of the trustees right now. Martin, please contact Dr. Haines. Tell him we are giving his offer all due consideration and will have a decision within two weeks.”

“May I tell him why the delay?”

“No. That’s none of his business. Jack, I’m eager to speak to Falconi too. Get him here. Whatever it takes. And say a prayer for the family of Judy Marsh,” she added. “Goddamn this business.” She marched out.

“If you have a minute, Forester,” said Bentley. He strode close. They were about the same six-foot height. “I know you’re aware that I opposed your appointment to the deanship.”

“Well aware.”

“I didn’t like the idea of a convicted juvenile delinquent running a med school.”

“I was a kid, Martin, and I paid my debt.”

“Be that as it may, if this idea of yours causes Health Wealth Associates to withdraw its offer and ends up going nowhere, Doctor, not only will you be on Mr. Haines’s shit list, you may go from being one of the youngest medical school deans in the country to . . .” The provost’s face twitched.

“To what?” Jack retorted, clenching his jaw.

Bentley sniffed. “To a middle-aged burger-flipper.”

The door opened and Tulip appeared. “Oh good, you’re still here, Dr. Forester,” she said. “Your assistant is on the line. You left your cell phone back in your office. The high school has been trying to reach you. Here’s the number. Something urgent about your niece, Kaitlyn. You can use my phone.”

He thanked her and stared down at the slip of paper she’d handed him, wondering what else would fall out of the clouds today.