From Benton’s perspective, Josh Feinberg didn’t look the part of an accomplished CEO or even a doctor. He was a slight man with an intense, gaunt face and shifty eyes more suggestive of a crooked used-car salesman than an accomplished hospital administrator. Although his suits were probably expensive, they hung on his bony frame like clothes on a wire hanger. But despite having less than a commanding appearance, Benton knew that Josh was a superb businessman, with his MBA from Benton’s Ivy League alma mater.
Before being recruited to take over Middleton Healthcare, Josh Feinberg had a stellar record of founding and managing a highly successful health-care consulting company called Feinberg Associates. Although functioning behind the scenes, this company had been responsible for a slew of medical products and procedures ranging from medical software to teeth-whitening strips. The source of its success was that it employed many hundreds of Russian PhD scientists who’d found themselves out of work after the dissolution of the Soviet Union.
Once at Middleton Healthcare, Benton was well aware that Feinberg had not only expanded the company but had also spearheaded the lucrative Sidereal Pharmaceutical connection. In the process, Feinberg had fostered a personal relationship with the otherwise reclusive billionaire Boris Rusnak. From the Russian’s reputation, Josh’s connection with the man might have been his biggest coup of all.
Josh offered Benton one of the chairs facing his massive desk, but Benton declined, saying he’d rather stand because he had to get back up to the OR and what he had to say wasn’t going to take much of Josh’s time.
“Have you spoken with Bob Hartley?” Benton asked, as a way to begin.
“No. Should I have?”
“No matter,” Benton said. “Let me clue you in.” He then had the same conversation he’d had with Hartley. Like Hartley, Josh took the story seriously, writing down the names of the medical students as Benton talked. The longest part of the conversation concerned Dr. Sandra Wykoff and what to do about her. Rhodes said she was a good anesthesiologist and committed to her work but somewhat of a loner and not always a team player. He admitted he didn’t have a full understanding of her.
“And you say Hartley will be getting in touch with me?” Josh asked.
“That’s what he said.”
“Good. About the two medical students looking into hospital-acquired morbidity: I’m sure that can be nipped in the bud. I’ll talk with the dean to make sure they toe the line. But on the off chance one or both don’t and persist with their inquiries, I want you to personally let me know immediately.”
“You mean if they contact Dr. Wykoff again?”
“Precisely. Whether they contact Dr. Wykoff or one of the other involved anesthesiologists, give me a heads-up. They could be a big problem, especially in the context of investigating hospital-acquired morbidity. We don’t want to stimulate any kind of unanticipated inspection by the Joint Commission with the way they are already busting our balls about access to the Shapiro Institute.”
“How will I get in touch with you if it’s off hours?”
“Text me!” Josh said. “I’ll have one of my aides give you my personal mobile number.”
“You got it,” Benton said. He felt flattered that Josh would be willing to give him his mobile number, but he wasn’t totally surprised. Josh had specifically and heavily recruited him five years earlier, and they had a somewhat social relationship.
“I certainly will take it from here. Thank you, Doctor.” As if by magic, the door to Josh’s office swung open. Standing on the threshold was Josh’s closest aide, Fletcher Jefferson. Josh gestured toward the man to let Benton know the meeting was over.
“You’re welcome,” Benton said, a bit surprised at being dismissed so summarily. If he hadn’t been flattered by the course of the meeting, he would have felt slighted. As he passed out of the room, Mr. Jefferson gave Benton a piece of paper. On it was Josh’s mobile number.
For several minutes after Dr. Rhodes had left, Feinberg played absentmindedly with his computer mouse, moving it in small circles to watch the cursor dance on his monitor. He hated picayune annoyances requiring his attention in the middle of big, momentous events. This current issue involving a spinster woman anesthesiologist and a couple of greenhorn medical students was a prime example.
Josh and Boris Rusnak currently were orchestrating a complete revolution in the pharmaceutical industry by modernizing and significantly improving the manufacture of biologics, and he needed to be on the top of his game. Biologics were where the industry was heading, thanks to the prices they were commanding and thanks to Middleton Healthcare’s alliance with Sidereal Pharmaceuticals. Since he and his team had forged this marriage, he was positioned at the very vortex of the change and stood to be rewarded beyond his wildest dreams. Within the hour he expected a conference call from Boris arranged by his chief aide, Sergei Polushin, and Josh already knew what was going to be discussed. They were going to propose that Sidereal double its projected antibody production by utilizing all thirty-plus Middleton Healthcare hospitals rather than the five that had been originally proposed. Such a situation would be huge and would essentially guarantee a merger between Sidereal and Middleton. With that kind of dependence, there was no way that Sidereal would allow Middleton Healthcare to go off on its own, as it would undoubtedly be courted by other multinational drug firms.
Pressing a button under the lip of his desk, the same button he’d pressed to end the meeting with Benton Rhodes, Josh waited for Fletcher to reappear. Seconds later he handed Fletcher the paper on which he had written the names of the two medical students.
“I want a rapid rundown on these kids,” Josh said. “I want to know where they live, where they are from, their family situations, and their significant others. Later I want details, but for now, the basics. Go!”
While he waited, Josh went back to fidgeting with his cursor. He knew that the upcoming call from Geneva might be the defining event in his life. Yet he wasn’t nervous, because he was prepared. Although he thought he knew what the agenda was going to be, he was ready to field a wide variety of curveballs. What he counted on was that Sidereal needed Middleton, and not vice versa.
After only five minutes, a muffled knock preceded Fletcher’s reappearance. He came directly to the front of Josh’s desk and put down a single sheet of paper. On it each student had a paragraph. Josh snapped up the paper and read it rapidly.
“Good,” Josh said, looking it over. “Perfect. They are both living in the dorm: that’s good. Both accomplished students: that’s good, since both have a lot to lose. Both on full scholarships: that’s helpful, too, as they probably are grateful. And they are good friends, which makes dealing with them easier: convince one, and that one would surely convince the other.”
Josh looked up. “Well done. Now, get the details!”
As Fletcher turned to leave, Josh reached for his phone. He knew that the best administrators knew how to delegate, and that was exactly what he was going to do. Thanks to Sergei Polushin, there was a resource to handle problems raised by the likes of Robert Hurley and now Sandra Wykoff and a couple of medical students. With a touch of a button Josh was on a direct line with Fyodor Rozovsky.