Dead Certain by Gini Hartzmark Read Free Book Online Page A

of the cameras. With her dark hair and telegenic red suit, she was less pretty than handsome, but struck a memorable figure nonetheless. She was also one of those people who somehow manages to look better on television than in person. Her strong features were somehow softened by the intervention of the camera, and as fond as I was of her, even I had to admit that hers was a personality best appreciated in sound bites. Today she was, as always, impeccably made up and expensively dressed. She was also, by the look of things, about seven months pregnant.
    “Long time no see,” I remarked, sliding into the booth across from her. “It looks like you and Ada m have both been keeping busy.” Adam was Joan’s husband, a North Shore obstetrician with a gilded practice.
    Joan patted her stomach. “I think this is going to be one of the hazards of being Adam’s wife. He always tells people we’re going to keep on having kids because the delivery room is the only place where I’ll let him tell me what to do.”
    “So how does little Jared feel about all of this?” I asked.
    “Oh, he’s excited about having a little brother to push around,” she replied. “But I didn’t ask you out to lunch to talk about babies and potty training. That’s what I go to the office to get away from.” She leaned across the table conspiratorially. “I wanted to talk about the sale of Prescott Memorial to HCC.”
    I was so surprised I practically choked on my ice water.
    “Oh, come on,” she continued. “Don’t pretend you don’t know that the board of trustees signed a letter of intent yesterday.”
    “If they did, then Pm sure they also signed a confidentiality agreement,” I pointed out. “You wouldn’t be telling me this as if it’s an accomplished fact, hoping to trick me into confirming it’s true?” I asked, being all too familiar with Joan’s courtroom wiles.
    “Believe me, Kate. Being a mother has made me a much better lawyer. After all, medicine is a lot like nursery school. No matter what, somebody always tells.”
    “So what makes you think I’d want to talk about it?” I asked.
    “Because your mother has been publicly associated with raising funds for the hospital her entire adult life. Because your family is the biggest single financial supporter of the hospital.”
    “And?”
    “And if they knew what I know about HCC, they would turn and run the other way.”
    “In that case I think you’d better tell me what you know about HCC,” I suggested.
    “For one thing, they’re evil.”
    “Oh, well, I’ll just go right ahead and take that to the board,” I said, helping myself to rolls and butter. “I’m sure that’ll persuade them.”
    “Okay, Miss Smarty Pants, why don’t you tell me what it is that you know about HCC?”
    “Not much,” I replied truthfully, “only what I managed to read last night.”
    “In that case, let me test the limits of your knowledge. Question one. Why does HCC have its headquarters in Atlanta?”
    “I have no idea, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
    “I’ll give you a hint. They don’t own any hospitals there, but it’s where Quickie-Mart, Circle Seven, and French’s New Orleans Style Fried Chicken all happen to have their national headquarters.”
    “I still don’t get it. What does any of that have to do with HCC?”
    “You really weren’t kidding when you said you don’t know much, were you? Those are all the companies that Gerald Packman worked for before he decided to strike out on his own and start Health Care Corporation. It only seems natural, doesn’t it, that having conquered the world of convenience markets and fried-chicken franchises that he’d want to share his unique vision with the health care industry?”
    “What vision is that?”
    “Oh, you know, the usual. Cost cutting, consolidation, taking the paper clips off your memos before you throw them in the trash—all the stuff that gives accountants hard-ons and is pretty much meaningless