inside. “When did he give this to you?”
“Five years ago. Shortly after your mother died.” The man’s small mouth curved beneath the shaggy mustache. “I think her death brought mortality into his life in big, bright letters. It hit him then that no one was going to go on forever, not even him, and he had some things he wanted to get off his chest, I suppose.” Fred pressed his lips together. “Damn, I thought if anyone would have been able to cheat death, it would have been him.”
“Yeah, me, too.” His father was the most decent, honorable man he had ever known, as well as the most dedicated. There were no skeletons in his closet, no real deep, dark secrets. His father’s life had been an open book. “What makes you think my father had something he wanted to get off his chest?”
“Because, for one thing, there are no letters for David or Ella or Anna. I guess as the family’s new patriarch, he was turning to you.” Fred’s bushy eyebrows rose in surprise as he watched Peter tuck the letter into his own breast pocket without opening it. “Aren’t you going to read it?”
Peter shook his head. “Not right now. I need to get through this ordeal first before I’m up to tackling another problem.”
Fred nodded, but it was obvious he was curious about the envelope’s contents. However, it wasn’t his place to prod.
“Makes sense,” Fred allowed. His mission accomplished, he took a step toward the doorway, then stopped. “By the way, is tomorrow evening still convenient for the reading of the will?”
Convenient. What a strange word to use under the circumstances. Peter took a breath, doing his best to block the barrage of sadness that threatened to overwhelm him again.
“Tomorrow evening will be fine, Fred,” he replied quietly.
Fred continued to pause as another thought occurred to him. “What about Anna and David? I don’t see either one of them at the reception.”
“That’s because they’re not here,” Peter replied simply. He could see the answer didn’t please the man. Crossing back to the doorway, he turned off the light. “If there’s anything out of the ordinary in the will—” which he was confident there wouldn’t be “—I can always call and tell them.”
Fred nodded as they walked out of the room together. “Rumor has it that NHC is about to come knocking on the hospital’s door.” He stopped short of the living room. “What are you planning to do about it?”
“Not answer,” Peter replied with a finality that left no room for argument.
Fred grinned broadly and clapped him on the shoulder. He had to reach a little in order to do it. “Good man. You’d make your father proud.” He lowered his voice again, assuming a conspiratorial tone. “He’s watching over you now, you know that, don’t you?”
Peter merely offered a perfunctory smile. He wasn’t exactly sure how he stood on things like that. What he did know was he would have preferred to have his father at his side. Or better yet, leading this charge against the anticipated assault. James Wilder was far better suited to staving off the barbarians at the gate than he was.
But he was going to have to learn. And fast.
The first person Peter noticed when he walked into the boardroom the next morning was Bethany Holloway. Out of respect for the late chief of staff, she was wearing a black sheath. It made her hair seem more vividly red, her complexion ever more porcelainlike.
Black became her, Peter thought absently. On her, the color didn’t look quite as somber.
The eight other board members in the room were also wearing black or navy, undoubtedly prompted by the same desire to show respect, Peter mused. His father would have been surprised at how many people mourned his passing. But then, the man had always been so unassuming, never thinking of himself, only others.
His thoughts momentarily brought him back to the envelope Fred had given him last night. He’d left it, unopened, on the mantel in the living room, unable to deal with its contents. He knew that was making assumptions, giving it an importance it might not actually have, but he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that whatever was inside the envelope was going to change life for him as he knew it.
So for the time being, it was going to remain unopened. At the moment, he had enough windmills to tilt at. Especially if this threat posed by NHC actually was genuine.
The January sun had decided to make an appearance, pushing its way into the rectangular room via the large bay window that looked down onto the hospital’s emergency room entrance.
Despite the brightness, Peter felt a chill zip down along his spine as he walked into the room. Everyone was already there. He was on time; they were early. Was there some sort of a significance to that?
Wallace Ford, the newly appointed chairman of the board, walked up to him and shook his hand as if he hadn’t been at the service and subsequent reception just yesterday.
“Good of you to attend, Peter,” he said heartily. Dropping his hand, he sighed heavily. “Again, let me express my deepest sorrow regarding your father.” He cast a glance about the room before looking at Peter again. “We all lost someone very special to us.”
“Thank you, Wallace, I appreciate that.” Peter looked around at the other board members, all sitting at the long rectangular table. It seated twelve. Only nine seats were filled. He’d never paid attention to the exact number of board members before. There’d been no need. Maybe he should have.
Hindsight wasn’t helpful.
“Where do you want me?” he asked Wallace.
Wallace gestured toward the chair beside Bethany. “Why don’t you take the empty seat next to Ms. Holloway?” And then the chairman smiled at Bethany as if they were both in on a secret joke. “I guess you’re going to have to relinquish your title as the newest member of the board, Ms. Holloway.”
“Gladly,” Bethany replied.
Wallace waited until Peter took his seat and then, running his fingers along the gavel he refrained from striking, the newly appointed chairman called the meeting to order and addressed the group.
“Because this is an impromptu meeting and we all have other places we need to be, I’m going to dispense with the reading of the minutes today and get right down to the heart of the matter.” His small, brown eyes rested on Peter for a long moment. “Or matters, as the case might be,” he corrected himself.
“First of all, we, the board and I—” Wallace gestured grandly around the table before continuing, and it struck Peter that the man was a born showman who was given to dramatic pauses “—would like to offer the position of chief of staff to you, Dr. Wilder.”
For a moment, Peter didn’t know what to say. Chief of Staff had been his father’s position. In his later years, James Wilder juggled that and being chairman of the board. Both were full-time jobs. It never ceased to amaze him how his father managed to do justice to both, but he had. In the end, it had probably taken a toll on his health.
That notwithstanding, Peter was flattered by the offer, but he knew his limitations. With a self-deprecating smile, he shook his head. “Thank you, all of you, but I don’t believe I’m experienced enough to take that on.”
Wallace
