Chapter 3 - The Interrogation Room
Jack didn't leave the porch. When he realized I wasn't going to unlock the door, he sat down on the stone steps, burying his face in his hands as the reality of his total ruin began to settle in. By evening, the Uber had long since driven away, replaced by an unmarked black sedan carrying two investigators from the hospital’s internal compliance division.
Through the window, I watched as the investigators approached the front steps, flashed official badges at Jack, and handed him a thick manila envelope. I didn't need to read the contents to know what was inside: a formal notice of immediate suspension pending a full federal inquiry into kickbacks, ghost surgeries, and fraudulent pharmaceutical consulting fees.
Jack tried to argue, standing up and waving his arms frantically, but the investigators simply turned their backs, got back into their sedan, and drove down the driveway without looking back.
My phone chimed with an email from Arthur Vance—my uncle and the senior managing partner of Vantage Capital, who had quietly kept an eye on my marriage from afar.
“The hospital board has voted 7 to 0 to strip him of his surgical privileges,” Arthur wrote. “Furthermore, the state medical board has been notified regarding his prescription-writing discrepancies. He’s finished in this state, Megan. Come into the office tomorrow morning. We need to file the divorce papers before he realizes he can't even afford a public defender.”
I replied with a single word: Tomorrow.
The next morning, I walked into the gleaming glass tower of Vantage Capital on downtown Dallas's main thoroughfare. The receptionists greeted me with warm, respectful nods; this building had been built by my grandfather, and every executive on the top floor knew exactly who held the voting shares.
In the executive conference room, Gerald and Arthur were waiting for me, surrounded by financial spreadsheets, bank statements, and legal drafts.
"He tried to access our joint safety deposit box at First National this morning," Gerald said, sliding a security report across the glass table. "The branch manager intercepted him per our instructions. He had no cash, no valid credit cards, and his corporate Amex was flagged as stolen property."
"Where is he staying?" I asked, sitting down in the high-backed leather chair.
"Nowhere permanent," Arthur grunted, pouring himself a cup of black coffee. "His mother's house is currently facing foreclosure because we stopped subsidizing her second mortgage last night. Ashley's marketing agency lost its primary commercial lease after we pulled our corporate backing. As for the blonde woman—her name is Jessica Vance, a pharmaceutical rep he's been wining and dining on hospital expense accounts for the past fourteen months—she checked out of her hotel room at noon as soon as she realized Jack's accounts were frozen."
I looked at the divorce petition sitting neatly in front of me. The grounds were comprehensive: financial malfeasance, abandonment, and flagrant infidelity backed by photographic and digital evidence compiled over the last six months.
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"File it," I said without hesitation. "And make sure the press release goes out to the local medical journal and the major Dallas dailies by 3:00 PM. I want no ambiguity about why this marriage ended."
Arthur smiled grimly. "Consider it done, Megan. Let's see how our brilliant surgeon survives without a safety net."
