Chapter 2 - VICTOR LEARNED WHAT FORTY-SEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS LOOKED LIKE TO SOMEONE ELSE
Victor called the estate doctor.
Chloe objected.
“Absolutely not.”
Dr. Elena Morales ignored her.
“You have a temperature of one hundred three.”
“I have acetaminophen at home.”
“You also have dehydration and probably influenza.”
“I can go home.”
Victor stood near the fireplace, arms folded.
“No.”
Chloe stared at him.
“I wasn’t asking you.”
Victor’s eyebrow moved.
Dr. Morales looked between them.
Then smiled slightly.
“I like her.”
“Don’t.”
Chloe spent the rest of the morning in one of the guest rooms.
Not Victor’s.
Important.
Mrs. Gable brought soup with the expression of a prison warden delivering contraband.
“You should have called out.”
“I couldn’t.”
“You could.”
“No.”
Mrs. Gable’s face softened by approximately two percent.
“Why?”
Chloe looked away.
“Personal.”
Mrs. Gable did not push.
Victor did.
Not directly.
That afternoon, he noticed a hospital envelope protruding from Chloe’s canvas bag where it sat beside the guest-room chair.
He did not open it.
He saw the amount printed through the billing window.
$47,862.14
When Chloe woke, he was sitting in an armchair across the room reading.
She nearly screamed again.
“Do you just appear in bedrooms?”
“This is my house.”
“Still creepy.”
He closed the book.
“What is forty-seven thousand eight hundred sixty-two dollars?”
Her face changed.
“Excuse me?”
“The hospital bill.”
“You went through my bag?”
“No.”
She looked toward it.
The envelope was visible.
Her shoulders relaxed slightly.
Then hardened again.
“Not your problem.”
“Clearly.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You came to work with a fever because of it.”
Silence.
Victor waited.
Most people filled silence around him.
Chloe did not.
Good.
Finally:
“My brother is sick.”
“What kind of sick?”
“Kidney disease.”
“How old?”
“Fifteen.”
Victor looked away briefly.
“Insurance?”
“Bad.”
“Specific.”
She glared.
“You conduct every conversation like an interrogation?”
“Yes.”
That answer was too quick to be a joke.
Then she said:
“Our plan covers dialysis, but there are medication denials and facility charges they keep reprocessing. Some are under appeal.”
“Who is the hospital?”
“St. Catherine Medical Center.”
Victor’s expression changed almost imperceptibly.
Chloe noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That was not a nothing face.”
He stood.
“Rest.”
“Victor.”
He stopped.
It was the first time she used his first name.
Neither commented.
“What?”
“Do not pay the bill.”
He turned slowly.
“I wasn’t offering.”
“Good.”
“I was going to find out whether it’s correct.”
“That is not better.”
“It is to me.”
“No.”
She pushed herself upright.
“My brother is not a charity project.”
“I didn’t say he was.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“Again, I didn’t offer.”
“Then why do you care?”
Victor looked at her.
That question was more dangerous than she understood.
Why did he care?
Because she slept in his bed?
Ridiculous.
Because he slept beside her?
Worse.
Because she worked sick and looked at a forty-seven-thousand-dollar hospital bill like it was a weather forecast she had to survive?
Maybe.
He answered:
“St. Catherine buys medical supplies through one of my logistics companies.”
Chloe stared.
“What?”
“Russo Freight handles contracted distribution for several hospital networks.”
“And?”
“If your bill includes costs connected to things my companies moved, I want to know whether someone is overcharging.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“That sounds suspiciously civic-minded.”
“It isn’t.”
“What is it?”
“Risk management.”
She almost smiled.
There.
Victor felt something unfamiliar happen in his chest.
He disliked it immediately.
Two days later, Chloe returned home.
Paid leave.
Full.
She protested.
Mrs. Gable threatened to physically remove her from payroll discussions.
Chloe liked her more after that.
Victor asked his compliance director for a routine review of St. Catherine’s distribution contracts.
No special favors for Chloe.
No request to erase her bill.
Just data.
Within one week, he found something interesting.
One supplier repeatedly billed St. Catherine for renal-care consumables through a bundled distribution program.
Northstar Renal Supply.
Prices had increased almost eighteen percent in two years.
Russo Freight merely transported sealed inventory.
Not responsible for pricing.
Still, the invoices moved through his network.
Northstar’s parent company:
Bellweather Medical Group.
Victor knew that name.
A board member, Anthony Bellweather, had been at dinner three nights earlier.
The man with the daughter in the red dress.
The daughter Victor had refused.
May you like
Suddenly, Chloe’s hospital bill and Victor’s social world were standing uncomfortably close together.
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