I HAVEN’T BEEN BACK to my old house in the Fairfax district of Los Angeles since I moved out ten years ago. When we divorced, Jay bought me out. His parents helped him because he loved this place and didn’t want to leave. I, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to take my money and run from my painful memories here.
We haven’t been in touch since, but a few years ago, I heard through a mutual colleague that he had remarried and has a couple of kids. At the time, I was heartbroken, thinking how I’d been too sick to go on that journey with him.
When I ring the doorbell, I hear a child crying inside. Despite knowing he has kids now, I somehow hadn’t expected this and am tempted to run away. But I wouldn’t be here unless I had no other choice.
Jay, as my mother did, specializes in treating addiction. When we were in graduate school together, he did a deep-dive research report in his psychopharmacology class about the opiate overdose crisis. He knows more than anyone about TriCPharma and the Cadell family. And before I leave for New York, I want to be as clear-eyed as possible about what I’m up against.
He opens the door with a crying toddler boy in his arms and a girl who looks around five years old wrapped around his left leg.
“Uh … hi,” he says. His face is whatever’s after shocked to see me.
“I’m sorry for showing up unannounced,” I say. “It’s an emergency.”
The little boy in his arms wails louder.
“Can you give me a second? Barbara is out of town—” He catches himself, realizing I don’t know who Barbara is. “I’m alone with the kids.”
I don’t know how to respond other than to ask, “Can I help?”
“It’s okay, just give me a sec.”
He carts the crying boy away and drags the girl, who still won’t let go of his leg, into our former living room. He turns on Peppa Pig on a mounted television screen that didn’t exist when I lived here. Peppa seems to do her magic because the kids are quickly and quietly transfixed.
He returns to the front door. “What’s going on?” he asks me.
I tell him everything. He’s the first person I’ve told, including Eddie, Pearl, and my recovery group, that doesn’t look shocked—not even at the prospect that my mom might still be alive.
“You don’t look surprised,” I say.
“TriCPharma is a crime syndicate operation, so no. If your mom somehow got caught up in the Cadells’ crosshairs, I get why she would’ve had to disappear. You and your dad would’ve been in danger too. Faking a death is a bit … extreme, but it’s not unheard of.”
This was Pearl’s hunch too—that if Mom left, she had to do it for us.
“But was this an issue in the nineties?” I ask him.
“The Cadells started working on perfecting their drugs in the seventies, but it took them a couple of decades to carry enough weight at the FDA to pay off officials there to get their drugs to the masses. The first wave of prescription overdoses didn’t begin until the nineties,” he says.
I nod, taking in the information.
“Their only goal was to make money. Anyone who got in their way wasn’t safe. And they’ve only become more ruthless and dangerous through the years, infiltrating the government at the highest levels, paying off senators and governors to look away.”
Oh my God. How is this even possible?
“How?” I ask.
“Through campaign contributions. They also use witness intimidation to prevent people from testifying against them in Congress. A colleague of mine testified in DC a couple of months ago before the Feds filed their current charges against the Cadell brothers, William Jr. and his younger brother, Quentin. He now has to wear an armored vest to work and change his route to his office daily to avoid being followed by them.”
This must be why Cristina told me to stay away from the FBI and the police. If the Cadells have figured out how to infiltrate the US government, they’ve probably gotten to law enforcement too. For all I know, the detective that showed up at my office yesterday trying to find out information about her is working for them too. My stomach turns.
I think about Cristina’s text, how she said she’s being framed for her mother’s death, and how Eddie said that Paul mentioned her mom was a pharmaceutical rep for TriCPharma long before marrying her father, William Cadell Jr.
“Do you know anything about the TriCPharma sales reps?” I ask Jay.
He nods. “The Cadells lied to them, telling them they were selling drugs that could give people in chronic pain their lives back, failing to mention patients could become easily addicted. They also lured reps in with parties and money. Reps who sold higher doses of their drugs got bigger bonuses.”
Maybe Cristina’s mom learned about this after she married William Cadell Jr., and they were worried about her speaking out?
“They got some doctors on board with monetary bribes and lies too,” Jay continues. “When these doctors’ patients became addicted to TriCPharma drugs and begged for more prescriptions, some doctors behaved unethically—some even traded sex with patients in exchange for more pills. And the good doctors who tried to speak out against the dangers of TriCPharma drugs were threatened, and their families were harassed, so they stopped.”
My mouth goes dry. My palms feel sweaty. It may be too dangerous for me to pursue this. Maybe I should let the criminal justice system try to work. There are charges against the Cadell brothers now. Maybe, for once, justice will prevail against this family. But I also know that courts move slowly—not quickly enough to help save Mom if she’s still alive and the Cadells are after her.
“Do you know what’s happening with the current charges?” I ask Jay.
“My buddy that testified told me that for the first time, the Feds have incriminating emails acknowledging that the family knew their drugs were addictive, which in theory should be a big deal. But, sadly, I don’t have a lot of hope.”
“Why not?”
“Historically, the government has squashed prosecutors who try to go up against TriCPharma. They’ve always allowed the Cadells, both the brothers and their father, when he was still alive, to settle by making them pay small fines, giving the false illusion of justice when it’s less than a slap on the hand for these guys.”
As he’s speaking, I realize something isn’t adding up. If the Cadells have influence over officials at the highest levels of government and have been able to get every lawsuit ever brought against them effectively tossed, why would they care about my mother, a random woman who supposedly died decades ago?
“If the Feds have concrete evidence that TriCPharma knew its drugs were addictive, why would the Cadell brothers care about my mom?” I ask Jay. “Even if she’s still alive, what could she possibly know that would top that?”
“Maybe it isn’t something she knows,” he says. “Maybe it’s something she did. She might’ve crossed someone in that family, and they’re out for retribution.”
“But in college?” I ask. “She was a theater major in the Village. What kind of trouble could she have possibly gotten into involving TriCPharma back then?”
“Maybe it wasn’t during college. Maybe it was after, like you said, with her patient Margot Cadell. It doesn’t matter when it happened. If your mom did something to piss them off, they won’t stop until they find her. She’s a loose end that needs to be tied up. And just because she got away before doesn’t mean she’ll be able to this time.”
He bites his lip awkwardly, like he wants to say something but isn’t sure how.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I’m not sure what your situation is … your personal situation.”
He’s referring to whether I’m with anyone, like he is, married with kids.
“If you have anyone special in your life you care about, and you pursue trying to find your mom, you won’t be the only one at risk. They’ll be too.”
I feel my face go white. “But … not if I keep my distance from them, right? I’ve already planned to stay away until all this is over.”
Jay shakes his head. “The Cadells have a history of going after families, Beans. They’ll stop at nothing to get what they want.”