Chapter 2 - The Doctor Who Worked Above Greg’s Office
I stared at the page until the letters blurred.
“No further diagnostic workup?”
Brenda nodded.
“That bothered me from the beginning.”
“Why?”
“Sarah’s records were incomplete.”
Hospice does not require every possible treatment to be attempted. Sarah had supposedly chosen comfort care after being told her condition was terminal.
But Brenda had never heard Sarah describe that decision herself.
Greg had done most of the talking.
“He said she didn’t want hospitals anymore,” Brenda told me.
I looked toward Room 107.
Sarah hated hospitals.
But she hated being lied to more.
“Who is Martin Keene?”
Brenda did not know.
I did.
Within twenty minutes, I found his professional profile.
Dr. Keene was an internal-medicine physician who ran a boutique executive health practice.
Same building as Lawson Financial Group.
Two floors above Greg.
I called Sarah’s longtime physician in Illinois.
She sounded stunned.
“Terminal?”
“You didn’t know?”
“I haven’t seen Sarah in nine months. Greg canceled her last appointment and said they were transferring care.”
My pulse quickened.
“What was she being treated for?”
“Severe fatigue, unexplained weight loss, anemia, recurring nausea. We were still investigating.”
“Cancer?”
“We had no confirmed cancer diagnosis.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“We were concerned about several possibilities. But no biopsy had established malignancy.”
I looked at Brenda.
She understood from my face.
Sarah had been admitted to hospice under a terminal diagnosis her own physician had never confirmed.
I went back inside.
“Sarah, sweetheart, who told you you were dying?”
Her eyes opened.
“Greg.”
“Which doctor?”
She frowned.
“Martin.”
“Did he examine you?”
“Once.”
“What did he say?”
Her voice was weak.
“That the scans were bad. That more tests would only hurt me.”
I swallowed.
“Did he show you the scans?”
“No.”
Then Sarah whispered:
“Greg said asking questions meant I was in denial.”
My hands became cold.
I stepped into the hallway and called the attorney again.
Before she answered, Brenda hurried toward me.
“We just received a call from the front desk.”
“Who?”
“Greg.”
My entire body tightened.
“He saw the insurance notification.”
Of course he had.
But Brenda wasn’t finished.
“He’s not in the Bahamas anymore.”
I looked at her.
“Where is he?”
May you like
She swallowed.
“On a flight to Anchorage.”
