Critical (12 page)

Angela had met him when she was a junior and he a senior at Columbia University, and he had swept her off her feet. She thought he was exactly what she was looking for. He was undeniably masculine, a good student, somewhat of a rebel, outspoken, seemingly honest, popular with and patriotic to his buddies new and old, passionate and outspoken about his attraction to her, romantic with little gestures like special-occasion flowers, and, particularly importantly to her, not afraid of showing emotion. In short, he was the opposite of her father, a personality profile Angela demanded in anyone she might consider for a long-term relationship. She even appreciated his blue-collar background and his confirmed allegiance to his high-school friends, few of whom had gone to college. It suggested he had good values. The only chink in the picture was that one night Michael had admitted that his domineering father had not spared the belt in his maniacal goal that his sons attend an Ivy League university. Since the modus operandi had worked for Michael, although not for Michael's older brother, Angela didn't pay heed to the old proverb “the ends do not justify the means,” although she should have. In a big, ugly way, it would prove to be prophetic.

“All right, all right!” Michael said finally, while waving his free hand in the air as if batting away a pesky insect. “Get back to me!” He positioned the phone receiver several inches over its cradle and let it drop. “God, some people are such assholes.”

Angela wisely held her tongue.

“So,” Michael said, rising up to his full six-foot-three stature. “What's up?” He came around the desk, grabbed a side chair, swung it over to the coffee table, and mounted it backward. With his arms crossed and resting on the chair's back, he regarded Angela with a wry, challenging smile that unfortunately evoked enough unpleasant memories that Angela scrapped her initial plan of restricting the conversation to her company's desperate need for cash and then leaving. Instead, she said, “First, let's clear the air about some minor issues.”

“Okay. What's your idea of minor issues?”

“Why on earth would you give permission to our ten-year-old daughter to get her belly button pierced before talking to me about it?”

“The kid wants it. Why not?”

“And that's enough of a reason for her to do it?” Angela asked with uncamouflaged disbelief. “Just because she wants it?”

“She told me all her friends have them.”

“And you believed her?”

“Why shouldn't I? It's kinda a fad.”

Angela instinctively knew it was a waste of everyone's time to continue the conversation. Michael had never been much of a parent—nor much of a husband. Only after they had gotten married did Angela learn that Michael had a “very blue-collar” idea of matrimonial duties. In his mind, his role was to come home from work, sit in front of the TV, and keep the family updated on current events, particularly in the sports world. And that was on those nights when he didn't have to meet his friends, supposedly for work-related dinners in lower Manhattan. Gone were the romantic gestures and compliments. Angela became pregnant and put up with their failing relationship, vainly hoping the birth of the supposedly longed-for child would turn Michael back into the person he'd been during the courtship. But Michelle's arrival only made Angela's life more difficult, as she desperately tried to balance graduate medical training in internal medicine with the rigors of parenting a newborn. Michael had refused to help except in very superficial ways. He even openly prided himself for never having changed a diaper. Such duties were simply below the dignity of a young, hotshot, rapidly rising investment banker.

“Listen,” Angela said, trying to keep herself as calm as possible, “let's not argue, but I assure you all her friends do not have them. And there's always the risk of infection.”

“They can have problems with infection?”

“Yes, indeed! But the point is that when something like this comes up and you think there is any chance I might feel strongly about it, talk to me before making a decision.”

“Fine,” Michael said, with a roll of his eyes. “Okay, you made your point about the piercing issue. What else? You implied there was more.”

“Yes, there is,” Angela said, trying to think of the right words. “I want to let you know under no uncertain terms that your telling Michelle that it is my fault you and I are divorced is unacceptable. Trying to get Michelle to take sides in a problem that is between you and me is not okay. You have to stop.”

“Hey, I didn't file for divorce, you did,” Michael said. “I didn't want to get divorced.”

“Who files for divorce has nothing to do with cause,” Angela snapped. “It was your behavior that got us divorced.”

“So I got drunk and hit you. I said I was sorry. What are you, perfect?”

“I wasn't the one having affairs. And you got drunk and hit me more than once.”

“I wasn't having affairs. I was just blowing off steam. A lot of the guys do it, especially when their wives are off to the Hamptons in the summer. It doesn't mean anything. It's just booze and entertainment.”

“We live on different planets,” Angela said. “But I didn't come here to argue. The past is the past for us, except for Michelle and Angels Healthcare. For Michelle's sake, don't talk about whose fault the divorce was. You can think one way, and I another. Just don't mess up her head pointing fingers. All I say to her is that it just didn't work out. I don't try to influence her relationship with you. That's totally between you and her.”

“All right,” Michael said, with another roll of his eyes. Ultimately, he didn't care. From his perspective, his current life was far better than his life when they were married. But at the time it had bothered him that Angela had the gall to file and embarrass him. He'd never expected it. None of the other guys got divorced. Hell, some of them had known, steady girlfriends and even allowed themselves to be seen in public with them.

“What we really need to talk about is Angels Healthcare,” Angela said.

“I hope you're not here to tell me that accountant of yours filed the damn eight-K.”

“No, that's not why I'm here,” Angela said with a shake of her head. “I haven't seen him yet today. I was in the office only briefly before going to the bank, then coming down here. But why are you asking me if he filed? You assured me you knew someone who could talk to Paul Yang, and there wouldn't be a problem.”

“True,” Michael said simply. “So what is it that you want to talk about?”

“I need to raise more money. If I don't, I'm not certain we are going to make it through the IPO with our current cash flow. You have to help!”

“You're not serious.”

“I'm very serious.”

“What the hell happened to the quarter of a million I raised for you a month ago?”

“It was more than a month.”

“That's one hell of a burn rate.”

“It's not all gone, but yes, it is a rapid burn rate. A sizable portion went out to suppliers. But the real draw is keeping three hospitals open with very little revenue.”

“But you told me last time you were here that you were dealing with an infection problem, which was soon to be under control. You said that your revenue stream would quickly recover.”

“It hasn't happened.”

“Why the hell not?” Michael demanded.

“When I was here last, our ORs were closed. Apart from loss of revenue, the cost of containing the infection was four times our estimate, but things are looking up. The ORs are now open, but our census is low. Except for a few stalwart individuals, our doctors are still gun-shy. Things will turn around rather quickly but not soon enough.”

Michael ran a nervous hand across his forehead and gazed out at the placid expanse of the Hudson River.

Angela watched him and knew him well enough to recognize true anxiety. He did not like what he was hearing. He was upset a month ago when she'd come with her woes, and he was more upset now. Not only had he committed a lot of his client's money to Angels Healthcare, he'd committed a lot of his own, not to mention his working relationship with Morgan Stanley, who he'd convinced to be the underwriter for the IPO.

Michael looked back at Angela. He nervously licked his lips. “What kind of money are we talking about here?”

“My CFO says we'd be confident with two hundred thousand.”

“Holy shit!” Michael exclaimed, leaping off his chair to pace his office. “Tell me you are joking,” he said, suddenly stopping and staring at Angela with an expectant expression. “Tell me. You're highballing me as a psychological ploy.”

“I'm telling you straight. This is too serious a situation to be joking or playing games.”

“What the hell is your crackpot CFO doing with all the cash?”

“Michael, it is expensive to run three hospitals. You've seen our books. Salaries alone are enormous, and the costs don't stop just because the revenue does. The eye hospital and the heart hospital are producing some cash, but the ortho hospital is producing almost none. We've let a few people go, but we are limited unless we want to call attention to our cash-flow problem, which we don't. Many of us haven't taken any salary for months.”

“I'm getting more than a bad feeling here. Yesterday, you call me about the problem with the accountant. Today you pop in, asking me to raise another two hundred grand! What's it going to be tomorrow?”

“Wait a minute!” Angela said. “You're the one who offered to help with the accountant when the issue arose a week ago. You said you had people who could convince him that filing the eight-K wasn't necessary.”

Angela waited for a moment before continuing. “We only need the money for three weeks, tops. Angels Healthcare will then be swimming in cash, even taking into account the obscene amount we have to pay Morgan Stanley.”

“Don't begrudge Morgan Stanley's take. They are the ones assuming the most risk here, and from what you are saying, it's even more than they think.”

“Go back to your clients! Offer them whatever you need to. I tried the bank, and I pleaded with Rodger, but it's a no go.”

“I can't go back to my client,” Michael said, decisively suggesting that there was no room for discussion.

“‘Client'? I thought it was clients?” Angela said. She was confused. He'd always said
clients
and used the word
syndicate.
She was certain.

“It's really one client,” Michael said reluctantly.

“Why can't you go back to him? Surely he doesn't want to risk his generous payoff, with as much stock and options as he controls.”

“That's what I said when I went back for the quarter of a million.”

“Tell him again. I assume he's a smart man. Tell him exactly what I told you, that the ORs are open.”

“He is a smart man, especially about money. If I go back to him at this point, he'll know we are desperate.”

“We are desperate.”

“Whether it is true or not, it is a bad negotiating position. He might demand to take controlling interest.”

It was now Angela's turn to stare out the window at the river. The idea of losing control of her company was anathema after all her effort. Yet what other options did she have? For a brief moment, she thought about going back to the practice of medicine and giving up the entrepreneurial lifestyle. But the thought was short-lived. She was realistic enough to know that the freedom her current lifestyle afforded her, at least prior to the current cash-flow problem, had become addictive. She couldn't help but recall her disastrous experience with her primary-care practice and the realities of the current healthcare reimbursement, which was totally out of her control. Also, she reminded herself that if nothing else, she was persistent. She wasn't going to give up now that she was fifty yards from the finish line after a ten-mile race.

“Let me talk to your client directly,” Angela said, breaking the silence. She had suddenly redirected her attention to Michael, who'd sat back in his chair. A few dots of perspiration had appeared along his hairline.

“Oh, yeah, sure!” Michael mocked, as if it was the most ridiculous suggestion she could possibly make.

“Why not? If he has any questions, he can ask them directly instead of through you. I can reassure him. With all the experience I've been having, I'm getting good at convincing investors.”

“My client has made it abundantly clear he only wants to talk to me about investment issues.”

“Oh, come on, Michael. I'm not going to steal your client. Don't be so paranoid.”

“It's not me who is paranoid, it's him. Just so you understand the situation, there's several shell companies between him and his position in Angels Healthcare, as well as with several other pending deals.”

“Why so much secrecy? Is there something here you're not telling me?”

“I'm only following his orders.”

“Is he your major client in most of your placement deals?”