After the Fall

by Patricia Gussin

  The detectives, in Jake’s opinion, didn’t look encouraged. As they left, Finley said, “Do not leave the area. We’re not finished, Mr. Harter. Giving misleading information in a murder investigation is a felony.”

  “On a happier note,” Booker couldn’t seem to resist a smirk, “congratulations again on your engagement to such a beautiful and exotic young woman.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  WEDNESDAY, MARCH 4

  Laura had flown with two pilots and an attractive steward young enough to be her son. Thank goodness for his help unloading a dozen boxes of heavy documents. Maybe she’d transported more than she needed, but why not? She had the whole plane to herself, may as well take advantage of it. The Keystone Gulfstream landed at the private plane terminal at Philadelphia International Airport at 1:15 a.m.

  Eileen Donovan, Laura’s efficient longtime secretary, had met her at Tampa City around six that evening. She had each of Laura’s file requests selected, ready for her approval, and packaged for travel. Laura hoped her new Keystone secretary would adjust to the workload once Laura got up and running in the job.

  Laura had asked for the file for each of the patients who had died while participating in the Immunone study. She’d provided these documents to the FDA in advance of the FDA advisory meeting, having also reviewed them in advance in teleconference with the two key FDA reviewers, Doctors Ridley and Hayes. During the call, Hayes seemed to be tracking the data carefully, asking questions, clarifying. On the other hand, Ridley, the more senior of the two, sounded bored and uninterested.

  Didn’t matter now. Jake Harter, who, as project manager, was supposed to make sure the medical reviewers had all relevant data at their fingertips, now said the FDA didn’t have the records. Harter either was incompetent or a liar.

  Well, Laura did have it. In duplicate, it turned out. While in Tampa, she’d had a call from her staff. They’d located, organized, and packed up the documents on their end too. Protocol be damned, tomorrow, Keystone Pharma, led by Laura, would hand carry the data into the agency. Infuriated by her conversation earlier that day with Harter, Laura had requested a meeting with the deputy director of the FDA himself—Dr. Sid Casey. In less than eight hours, FDA management would be shown the proof of Jake Harter’s blunder.

  Exhausted though she was, Laura couldn’t stop thinking about Lonnie Greenwood. How much did he know about that summer night in 1967 when she’d pulled the trigger that shattered Johnny Diggs’ brain? One of Johnny’s friends, Ray—aka Snake—Rogers, had figured it out, and successfully blackmailed her to keep him from going to the police. But Snake was dead, and she had dared to believe her secret had died with him. Until Lonnie Greenwood had called her office in Tampa, claiming he was a friend of the Diggs/Jones family, insinuating he knew something she’d rather no one else knew—but did he? Why had he waited twenty-five years? Would he be satisfied once Laura arranged a lung transplant for his son with cystic fibrosis?

  If so, that was a motive she could understand. She would do anything for her children. And, she would do everything in her power to help young Johnny Greenwood. She’d already secured the transplant board’s commitment to push him to the top of the list for a coveted lung transplant. She had procured his medical records, assessed him an appropriate transplant recipient, and arranged for Ed Plant to do the surgery. Her recent notoriety as the lead investigator in the studies leading to the approval of Immunone, and the generous donation of Paul Parnell to Tampa City Hospital, as well as her vice presidency at Keystone Pharma, put her in the ideal position to meet Lonnie Greenwood’s demands, but would Greenwood stop there?

  Laura tried to shut off that part of her brain when her limo dropped her off at Tim’s—soon to be their—apartment at one forty-five. Tim was still awake, reading in bed. As she undressed, careful not to disrupt the layers of gauze wrapped around her right hand and forearm, he suggested a glass of wine or a cup of tea.

  “Too tired, but thanks. You don’t know how wonderful you are to come home to.”

  “All those wasted years.” Tim put aside his book. “You look beat, babe. Just join me in here and be comfortable.”

  “Won’t be for long,” Laura said, reaching to set the alarm. “Leaving for DC at six o’clock.”

  “Success in Tampa?” Tim asked.

  “Yes. I have what I need to debunk this ‘can’t find the data’ crap.”

  “Remind me never to cross you, my dearest.” Tim pulled up the covers on her side of the bed. “How’s the arm?”

  “Not much better. No worse.” Laura snuggled up next to Tim and was asleep in an instant.

  Tim must have been up by four o’clock. By the time Laura’s alarm went off, she could smell the coffee. Tim, proving himself as husband material, she realized with a smile. Only two-and-a-half hours of sleep, but Laura felt a surge of energy for her day of vindication. She had what the FDA needed for their Immunone final approval, and damn the agency’s stonewalling or blundering, she wasn’t sure which. How could losing reports be anything but incompetence? And the way Jake Harter had carried on, you’d think his mission was to block approval of the drug. But why? Immunone would help so many patients who needed organ transplants, was much more effective than anything out there, and had fewer side effects. So what was his game? Could he have invested money in a competitive pharmaceutical company? Always a possibility, but the FDA did have conflict of interest laws.

  As Laura taped a plastic bag over the wrappings on her injured hand and lower arm, she marveled at how quickly she’d jumped into the big pharma fires. She’d taken on the threat to Keystone’s most promising drug, no holds barred. She’d asked no one’s permission—or even advice—about her decision to ring up the top echelon on the drug side of the FDA and demand to be heard.

  When she’d announced her plan to Louis Sigmund, her regulatory VP turned seven shades of white, but he’d simply said, “As you wish.”

  Her staff would support her, at least for a while. She was in that honeymoon phase of employment, when they gave your rope enough slack to get the job done or let you hang yourself trying.

  Tim wore a tattered bathrobe as he served Laura scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee at the kitchen counter. “You look too good for two hours’ sleep,” he said, sliding into the hightop chair beside her.

  “Wish I could do something with my hair,” she said.

  Tim ran a hand though her hair, fluffing the blond curls that fell to about even with her collar. “Most women would die for your hair, my dearest.” Laura noticed a shadow cross Tim’s face. “And your hand? You will have time for your therapy, right?”

  “I hope so.” Laura really didn’t hope so. Those sessions were painful beyond belief. Necessary, she knew, but brutal.

  “You coming home after your meeting or going in to Keystone?”

  “Not sure. Depends on this dog and pony show, how long it runs. Hope I don’t get thrown out. I’m going over a lot of heads. And, I’ve been warned that ignoring protocol often backfires, but who can stand on etiquette when the FDA pulls such an outrageous stunt?”

  “Okay, oh righteous one,” Tim said, reaching over to pour them each another cup of coffee.

  “Thanks for fixing me breakfast at this ungodly hour, Tim. What’s on your schedule for today?”

  “We surgeons don’t let lack of sleep deter us—” Tim stopped.

  Former surgeon, Laura thought, in my case.

  “Laura, I had a disastrous day yesterday. Lost that little Saudi girl. If only they’d gotten her here sooner. Even a day earlier may have made a difference. Every time that happens, I feel a bit of myself die too.”

  With a surge of guilt, Laura realized she’d been so absorbed in her corporate world she hadn’t even thought to commiserate with Tim about the baby with tetralogy of Fallot, baby Malika. How Tim could deal with infants and children with major heart malformations was more than she could comprehend. Before she could think of something comforting to say, Tim continued, “Two proc
edures today—a mitral valve replacement, pretty routine. And then a cardiac tumor in a four-year-old. The imaging and echo for the kid look a lot like Patrick’s. Just hope this little boy has such a happy outcome.”

  “Yes, Patrick,” Laura said, starting to get up. Her limo would be here any minute to take her to the airport, to the sleek Keystone Gulfstream she now thought of as hers. “If only I could prevent the hurt I’m causing him now. I’ve been thinking, Tim. Let’s go ahead and invite the kids for dinner Friday night, and tell them about Patrick, let them in on my shameful secret. I know I have to do it. Maybe the other kids won’t be as gracious as Patrick. But I have to do this.”

  Tim walked with her to the door. He pulled her toward him, kissed her, then picked up her briefcase and placed it in her left hand. “Yes,” he said. “Now you go do battle with the government. I’m betting on a Keystone victory. Do those Keystone people have any idea how lucky they are to have you on their team?”

  “Bye, Tim, wish me luck. And do you know how lucky I am to have you on mine?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  WEDNESDAY, MARCH 4

  Every nerve in Addie’s brain jangled. Her life was imploding around her. Her Middle Eastern roots clashing violently with the Western lifestyle she now preferred. In America she had a dream job, prestige with her PhD degree, a secure position in a hugely successful startup. Highly respected, treated as if she were a male professional, not a half-person, as Islamic law defined females. And, she was about to come into more money than she could even comprehend—if she could keep her job long enough.

  And then there was Jake, whom she’d always thought of as a convenient boyfriend, married and safe. But now, not married, and maybe not so safe. He’d dragged her into a police matter, and Addie knew what that meant. She could be arrested and never heard from again. But she wasn’t in Iraq. America has courts of justice, and so many loopholes even the worst criminals could avoid arrest. In this web of disaster, she couldn’t think straight.

  Thankfully, Jake had been up and out early. He’d needed to prepare for an important FDA meeting. He hadn’t told her what it was about. When she’d asked if was an Immunone meeting, he’d ignored the question. And if it was about Immunone, why wouldn’t he tell her? What did that mean for her future? Marrying a man who refused to be honest with her?

  As Addie went about making her morning tea, she felt her hands shake. Just thinking about Jake brought to mind the shocking visit from the police. They suspected her of killing Jake’s wife. Why else would they insist on talking to Dru to confirm her alibi? And where was Dru? He’d needed to tell her how she would get her new documents and tickets to travel to Baghdad once she got to London. And why did she need false documents? She was an Iraqi citizen, living legally in the US with a green card. At this moment, she was desperate to find him. He must go to the police and back up her story. Would he do that for her, or would he be scared out of his mind too?

  Her kitchen smelled like coffee, a smell she’d never grown accustomed to in this country. She rinsed out the carafe before she sat to drink her cup of tea. She’d allow herself a few calm moments, and then she’d reread the letter from her mother that had arrived yesterday. She’d grabbed it out of Jake’s sight, before she realized he couldn’t read Arabic. Torn between two cultures, she thought.

  Dear Daughter,

  You are to return home to us your father says. So very good. There is much for me to do. First, I have found you a husband. I have cultivated several, but most could not wait even though I tell them you are the most beautiful. The most good tempered. The most obedient in all ways of Allah.

  Mother, you are so far off the mark there.

  My friend Anah has still an unmarried son. And, Adawia, you will respect him. Maybe you remember Gabir. Gabir Rahman. Three years older than you. You used to see him at the mosque. Do you remember? Tall. Heavy now with the big belly. But lots of curly black hair. He fixes electric things. Sorry to say he did not go to university. So I am trying not to say much about how important a doctor you are. I just told Anah you are in America and you don’t like it and want to come home and marry a Muslim man. Anah needs grandchildren and, of course, I want more too. So that shouldn’t be a problem. And you and I know you have to work at the research like your father, but if Gabir likes you, he won’t care too much.

  Oh Mother, do you have any idea of how nauseous this Gabir person is making me?

  So, I am going through the preparations so when you get here, all will be ready. Father has been so ill he hasn’t been much help. And even being so sick, he still has to go to work every day. When you come, you take his place. That’s what he tells me, but a woman? How can you take the place of a man like your father? But not my place to question. I have a lot to teach you about being a good wife. I taught your sister and I will teach you too.

  You might find me a bit more difficult than my sister Farrah, Mother. Perfect Farrah, with her dictatorial husband and her two darling little boys.

  Don’t worry, Adawia, you and Gabir will be a good marriage, not as high-level on his side, but there are not many men left without a wife, my daughter. You are thirty-four years old. You have been away too long. Your father and your sister are all so happy you will be home with us. This will mean so much to your father. My darling Adawia, your father is not doing well. He’s sick and needs you, but don’t worry about anything. We will have all ready for you.

  I can’t do this. I just can’t go back to that kind of life. A life without respect. A life as a half-person.

  Your loving mother

  Addie finished her cup of tea and fixed a piece of toast. This was going to be a long day, maybe the most important day of her life.

  Dipping her toast in honey and sipping her second cup of tea, Addie mentally listed her options.

  If she obediently went to Baghdad on Friday; did not get a leave of absence; did not marry Jake: she’d be working in bioterrorism; she’d be stuck with Gabir; she’d not have $7.5 million that could buy her way out of anything.

  If she went to Baghdad on Friday; did get the leave of absence approved today; did marry Jake tomorrow: would she ever be able to leave Iraq? Would Islam accept Jake as her husband and let him join her in Iraq? Could she trust Jake to take care of her money, to not start a new life without her?

  What if Replica did not give her the leave of absence, and simply terminated her on Friday? She’d never see the money, but would she still marry Jake tomorrow? What good would it do her?

  And, what if she did not get on that plane Friday, two days from now? Married to Jake or not, her family—mother, father, sister, and nephews—would be killed. Could she live with that? And herself, the target of an Iraqi death team even in the United States for her insubordination…

  Addie checked her watch. Time to go. The Human Resources office opened at eight thirty. She’d be their first customer of the day. Her hands shook more as she rinsed the cup and saucer before placing them in the dishwasher. Dishwasher. No such luxury in Iraq.

  Mentally, she reviewed her decision tree. The first branch would be leave of absence or no leave of absence. Next would be marry Jake or not marry Jake. The last: return to Iraq or put at risk all whom she loved.

  Addie wore a conservative, burgundy-colored suit for her unscheduled meeting with Human Resources. On a normal day, she’d be dressed casually in slacks and a sweater. Most days, she wore a long lab coat, so it didn’t matter how she dressed up or dressed down. She arrived just as official working hours started and told the receptionist she needed to speak with the vice president. Replica was a small company. Everybody knew everybody, but as their most successful researcher—Immunone’s creator and champion—she knew Priscilla Fabre would see her immediately. She was offered coffee, requested tea, and sipped her third cup of the morning.

  “Come in, Addie.” Priscilla stood at her office door, holding it open for Addie. Dressed equally as professionally and definitely more expensively, Priscilla greeted Addie wi
th a wide smile, as she patted her gray curls in place.

  Replica didn’t have a separate public relations department, so Priscilla’s responsibilities as a vice president included human resources and public relations. Addie guessed the stylish designer suit in shades of gray and matching Italian shoes had something to do with the imminent approval of Immunone. Should the approval happen today, Priscilla was dressed for television news.

  Addie liked Priscilla and admired her determination. Recruiting Addie to Replica had been Priscilla’s doing, and Priscilla had been the architect of Addie’s employment agreement. Replica could not afford the escalating employment packages offered by the larger pharmaceutical companies, so they’d offered a modest salary, considered low for a scientist of her training. But to sweeten the pot, they gave her 5 percent of the selling price for her Immunone project, should it be acquired by another company. Contingent on Immunone’s approval and contingent on Addie being a full-time employee of Replica at the time of drug approval. Since Immunone had been sold to Keystone Pharma for $150 million, her share amounted to $7.5 million. When the deal had been struck, the drug had been in an early phase of development. A risky venture, but now Immunone’s approval was a sure thing—almost. Why hadn’t Dr. Nelson called her back?

  Priscilla was practically jumping up and down as Addie walked into her office, mug of tea in one hand and briefcase in the other. “Good news? So early in the day?” she asked expectantly.

  “No, Priscilla. Not good. I have a request. For you, for the company.”