Dane’s jaw dropped as she gawked at the pills in disbelief. They watched her as she tried gamely to be stoic while her mind went crazy. She breathed deeply and said, “I’ve never seen the drug. How on earth did you get it?”

“It’s a long story that we don’t need to discuss. But, Grattin has three hundred facilities in fifteen states, so there’s a lot of this stuff in the pipeline and in play. It wasn’t that difficult to lift a few capsules.”

“How’d you know about the side effects?”

“We ran it through some high-end labs where it was finally identified as Flaxacill. We’ve done some work, Dane.”

“Indeed you have. Was this by chance found in Flora, Kentucky?”

“It was. By Brittany, who is no longer with us. You feel responsible for Nelson’s death. We feel responsible for Brittany’s.”

“Don’t. Brittany was killed by the same people who took care of Nelson.”

“The boys at Grattin?”

“Yes. I wasn’t in the room, but I’d bet that when Ken Reed and his circle found out that a ten-dollar-an-hour orderly in Flora, Kentucky, had lifted a bottle of E3, they went into a panic.”

“These guys kill all the time?” Noelle asked.

Dane tried to relax with a sip of coffee. She gently set down her cup and took two deep breaths. “These guys, and there are four of them, began as decent men. The money ruined them. They started making millions and figured out ways to make millions more. They provide substandard care at expensive rates, courtesy of the taxpayers. If there’s a way to screw Medicare, Medicaid, Social Security, Ag, Defense, pick another one, then these guys know how to do it. Have they killed before? Probably, but nothing has ever been proved. Roughly ten years ago a federal meat inspector in Nebraska died under suspicious circumstances. One of Reed’s offshore corporations owned several meat-processing plants in the Midwest, low-end beef and pork they peddled to fast food chains, school lunch programs, even the military. An inspector surprised them with a visit and found plenty of violations. He shut down two plants. The company ran to Washington, lined up the politicians on its payroll, and got them reopened. The inspector would not go away and kept inspecting. He shut them down again, and again. He eventually died in a car crash, late at night, on a lonely road.”

“Who are the four?” Bruce asked.

“Ken Reed; his cousin Otis Reed, a lawyer; Lou Slader, head of security and bribery; and an accountant named Sid Shennault. Slader is the one to worry about. Ex-FBI, ex–Army Ranger, a smooth operator who always carries a gun. He runs all security, at least around the headquarters. There’s not much at the facilities, costs too much. He also handles the political side and doles out huge sums of money to politicians, above the table, and to regulators, under the table. Grattin operates on a large scale, so there are a lot of inspectors and bureaucrats to keep at bay. It’s far cheaper to pay bribes than to provide quality care.”

“And these four men make all the decisions?”

“No, not at all. Ken Reed is the dictator. The other three are like sycophants. They do what he says, make him look good, and never cross him. He demands complete loyalty.”

“Is there a weak link?” Bruce asked.

“I doubt it, but then they’ve never been threatened. Ken pays them a fortune and keeps ’em happy. I think they would take a bullet for him.”

“Who’s the youngest?”

“Sid’s about forty-five, happily married with five kids still at home. Clean-cut, devout Baptist, a country boy from somewhere around Waco. Last time I checked, his salary was almost a million bucks a year. That buys a lot of loyalty.”

“How much access do you have?” Noelle asked.

“More than they know. When I was Ken’s executive assistant I knew virtually everything. He became uncomfortable with that and I realized it. I know their computers and systems. I don’t hack anything but I still see a lot of stuff they don’t know I’m seeing.”

“And you’re still on the payroll?”

“Vice President in charge of marketing, of which there is almost none. You don’t have to advertise in this business.”

“Do they suspect you?” Bruce asked.

“No. If they suspected me of talking to Nelson I wouldn’t be here now.”

They let those words settle around them. Softly, Dane said, “And it’s time for me to leave now. Nelson was killed in August, and since then there has been a real change in Ken’s moods around me. I don’t think he feels guilt over the killing, and, as I said, I don’t think he suspects me. But he is worried sick about being exposed. Sure, Flaxacill is not an illegal drug, and, sure, it actually extends life, but he fears a massive federal investigation into Medicare fraud, with indictments likely. And look at the lawsuits, tens of thousands of them by the families of the victims, families whose misery was prolonged by the drug. And no insurance company will step forward to save Grattin, not for illegal acts. I need to get out while I can. I hate what the company does and I despise most of the people who work there. I want a new life.”

“What’s your endgame?” Noelle asked.

“Nelson promised me half the royalties from the book. Nothing in writing. In fact, he made the promise in bed. But for me, it’s still binding.”