“I don’t like possible,” Taylor said. He disconnected from Kevin and called the operator back at GenSys. Taylor said he wanted to speak immediately to Dr. Raymond Lyons. He emphasized that it was an emergency.

New York City

“Excuse me,” the waiter whispered. He’d approached Dr. Lyons from the left side, having waited for a break in the conversation the doctor was engaged in with his young, blond assistant and current lover, Darlene Polson. Between his gracefully graying hair and conservative apparel, the good doctor looked like the quintessential, soap-opera physician. He was in his early fifties, tall, tanned, and enviably slender with refined, patrician good looks.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” the waiter continued. “But there is an emergency call for you. Can I offer you our cordless phone or would you prefer to use the phone in the hall?”

Raymond’s blue eyes darted back and forth between Darlene’s affable but bland face and the considerate waiter whose impeccable demeanor reflected Aureole’s 26 service rating in Zagat’s restaurant guide. Raymond did not look happy.

“Perhaps I should tell them you are not available,” the waiter suggested.

“No, I’ll take the cordless,” Raymond said. He couldn’t imagine who could be calling him on an emergency basis. Raymond had not been practicing medicine since he’d lost his medical license after having been convicted of a major Medicare scam he’d been carrying on for a dozen years.

“Hello?” Raymond said with a degree of trepidation.

“This is Taylor Cabot. There’s a problem.”

Raymond visibly stiffened and his brow furrowed.

Taylor quickly summarized the Carlo Franconi situation and his call to Kevin Marshall.

“This operation is your baby,” Taylor concluded irritably. “And let me warn you: it is small potatoes in the grand scheme of things. If there is trouble, I’ll scrap the entire enterprise. I don’t want bad publicity, so handle it.”

“But what can I do?” Raymond blurted out.

“Frankly, I don’t know,” Taylor said. “But you’d better think of something, and you’d better do it fast.”

“Things couldn’t be going any better from my end,” Raymond interjected. “Just today I made positive contact with a physician in L.A. who treats a lot of movie stars and wealthy West Coast businessmen. She’s interested in setting up a branch in California.”

“Maybe you didn’t hear me,” Taylor said. “There isn’t going to be a branch anyplace if this Franconi problem isn’t resolved. So you’d better get busy. I’d say you have about twelve hours.”

The resounding click of the disconnection made Raymond’s head jerk. He looked at the phone as if it had been responsible for the precipitate termination of the conversation. The waiter, who’d retreated to an appropriate distance, stepped forward to retrieve the phone before disappearing.

“Trouble?” Darlene questioned.

“Oh, God!” Raymond voiced. Nervously he chewed the quick of his thumb. It was more than trouble. It was potential disaster. With his attempts at retrieving his medical license tied up in the quagmire of the judicial system, his current work situation was all he had, and things had only recently been clicking. It had taken him five years to get where he was. He couldn’t let it all go down the drain.