James Grippando - Blood Money

“What did you expect us to do? Roll over?”

“I would have expected you to tell me not to come if this was the way you intended to treat us. Let’s go, Hannah.” They rose and started for the door.

“Swyteck,” said Gaines.

Jack stopped and turned.

“I’ve done all the talking for the team today,” said Gaines. “But with me at this table are some of the best lawyers in the country. Trust me. On so many levels, this is a fight you don’t want to pick.”

“Too late,” said Jack. “Hannah really wants to kick your ass.”

Hannah did a quick double take, then for some reason felt the need to speak. “Yeah, I’m gonna kick your-”

Jack silenced her with a sideways glance. He opened the door, and they started down the hall to the elevator.

Hannah spoke through her teeth. “Did I just sound like a sixteen-year-old girl in there?”

“Fifteen,” said Jack.

“Oy vey.”

Jack pushed the call button for the elevator. “We’re cool,” he said.

Jackson Memorial Hospital is virtually around the corner from Miami International Airport, right on the way home for Jack. His flight from LaGuardia was a few minutes late, but the Laramores were at their daughter’s side around the clock. Jack made a quick stop to give Ben Laramore a flavor of how the meeting with BNN’s lawyers had gone.

“We’ve got a battle on our hands,” said Jack.

They were at a table in the ground-floor cafeteria, which had stopped serving for the night and was a few minutes from closing. Most of the chairs were upturned and resting on the dining tables, out of the way for a floor mopping. Only one other table was occupied, an intern on her cell phone.

“Is there any hope of a quick settlement?” asked Laramore.

“It’s going to take more than filing a complaint to bring them to the bargaining table. We need to push the case forward, take some depositions. Even then, this could be one of those cases that doesn’t settle until the eve of trial, if it settles at all.”

“Then we need to push the case to trial. Fast.”

“We’ll push, but civil suits don’t typically move quickly. Realistically, the soonest we can expect that judge to set the case for trial would be six to eight months from now, and we can pretty much bank on at least one continuance. Probably a year or more, when all is said and done.”

“A year ?” Ben said, running his hand through his hair. The worry lines in his face seemed carved in wax, each day taking a toll. Laramore dug an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Jack. “I can’t wait a year.”

Jack checked inside. It was a hospital expense report. “Ninety-two hundred dollars,” said Jack, reading the bottom line aloud.

“That’s just for today . No insurance. Virginia doesn’t work. I’m a laid-off plumber. Whoever strangled my daughter is still out there, and I can’t even afford to post a security guard outside the door. I asked for daily printouts, just so I can keep a handle on expenses, but what’s the point? How are we supposed to pay for this ?”

“First off, I wouldn’t worry about a guard. This happened only because her attacker thought she was Sydney, and even if for some reason he comes after Celeste now, he has to get past the cameras, security guards, locked doors, and all the other restrictions on access to the ICU. But the bills. .” Jack paused, searching his mind for some way to help. “I’m no expert in this field, but I believe that if we can get Social Security to determine that Celeste qualifies for disability income, Medicaid will cover her hospitalization.”

Laramore shook his head. “I’ve already had that conversation with the hospital. This place deals with brain injury every day. They know the ins and outs of these programs. To be eligible for Social Security, you have to be totally disabled for a full year.”

“There has to be an exception for a patient in a coma.”

“There’s not. The problem is that no doctor can tell the Social Security Administration when Celeste will recover or what her recovery will look like. She could be in a coma a year or more and end up totally disabled. Or, God willing, she could snap out of it tomorrow and be just fine.”

Jack could hear it in Ben’s voice-the fear that each passing day made the chances of “just fine” all the more remote.

“I’ll do some research. If not disability, maybe there’s another way to qualify Celeste without bankrupting you and your wife.”

“I spent over two hours with a hospital administrator today. She truly wanted to help, but we simply fall through the cracks in the system. Even if Virginia and I could qualify our family for Medicaid, we couldn’t get Celeste covered as our child because she’s over the age of nineteen. And Celeste can’t apply for Medicaid on her own because she has no kids and is under age sixty-five.”

Jack took another moment to think. “When my grandfather was in a nursing home, I read about something called the medically needy program. It’s for people who don’t strictly qualify for Medicaid. It may be worth looking into.”

“Let’s be real, Jack. Most Medicaid programs in this country are on life support themselves. How long do you think the state of Florida is going to pay for us to keep Celeste on life support?”

“We have to be prepared to fight day to day.”

“I appreciate your intentions. But each day Celeste spends in a coma, the pressure to pull the plug is going to build. I want to give my daughter a fighting chance. I don’t want a bunch of bean counters telling me it’s time to give up hope. BNN caused this mess. They should at least pay the hospital bills to fix it.”

“That’s part of our claim.”

“But we can’t wait for trial. Our only real hope is for you to find the magic bullet that brings those bastards to their knees.”

No pressure.

“I’ll do my best,” said Jack. “Step one is to file the complaint as soon as the court opens tomorrow.”

“What about suing the Department of Corrections, like I asked about in the first place? Maybe they’d be quicker to settle.”

“That’s actually more complicated. You can’t just sue a state agency in Florida. We have to give the department written notice of our claim. We’re working on that now. The department has six months to respond before we can even file suit.”

“Six months? I can’t believe this.” Laramore’s cell rang. Jack heard one side of the conversation, which lasted only a few seconds, ending with Laramore telling the caller that he was in the cafeteria.

“UPS,” Laramore told Jack. “Got a delivery for me.”

“At eleven o’clock at night?”

A man approached, interrupting. “Mr. Laramore?”

“Yes.”

The man wasn’t wearing a UPS uniform and wasn’t even dressed in brown. “This is for you,” he said as he handed him a packet. He left quickly, without asking for a signature.

Jack said, “That was a process server if I ever saw one.”

“Am I being sued?” Laramore asked, opening the packet. He handed it to Jack, who read it quickly.

“It’s a temporary restraining order,” said Jack.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that while I was in New York meeting with BNN’s lawyers, another team of lawyers for BNN went before a judge in Miami and got him to enter an order against you, your wife, and me.”

“Don’t we get to present our side of the story?”

“It’s called an ex parte order. It’s not an easy thing to get, but sometimes judges will enter orders without notice to the other side.”

“An order to do what?”

Jack found the operative language in the order. “It requires us to file our complaint against BNN under seal, meaning that it won’t be part of the public record. And it forbids us from discussing the allegations publicly. Essentially, it’s a gag order.”