Page 33 of Daddy's Double Surprise

Thirty minutes later, after we had ensured there were no broken bones, Freya, Jackson, and I sat in the break room around the tiny table. He got her a cup of coffee and I sipped my water while she told us her story.

“I guess I’m ready,” she sighed, nursing the mug of hot coffee. She hadn’t touched it, treating it more like a comfort item than the beverage it was. It sat on her lap cradled between both hands as she hunched over and resigned herself to the fate I knew she’d suffer in the end.

“It’s going to be okay,” Jackson said, reassuring her. He had already called the police. It was our duty to report domestic violence when we saw it come through the clinic, though most women didn’t really come out and admit their partners were the ones putting the bruises on them.

“He’s right. And I’m going to be with you every step of the way.” I held her hand again, proud of her for taking this step finally. She had no idea the good life she could have on the other side of this.

“He just gets too angry.” She shrugged and met my gaze longingly, like she didn’t want it to turn out this way.

“They say we attract the same sort of partners on repeat because there’s something wrong with us,” I started and held her gaze. “But really, we’re just used to life being a certain way. We overlook the red flags because we want to believe in the good in people. You wanted so much to believe that Brad was a good man, and with the right therapy, he probably is. But you can’t live like this anymore.”

The words came out making sense, but I was speaking to myself too. Freya was making a very bold move, being brave enough to see that she deserved better from life than a man who would beat her around. I was actually moved by that so much it made me internalize what was happening.

There was no comparison between her situation with Brad and mine with my dad or Carter. Still, it motivated me to do what I knew had to be done. If she was brave enough to get the help she needed, I had to be strong enough to place boundaries in my life and tell the men in my life what I really wanted from them. Dad needed to back off and Carter needed to step up.

“The police are here,” I heard and turned to see the receptionist standing in the doorway. Two uniformed police officers stood behind her, one of them a woman around my age.

“You’re in good hands here, Freya. I have to step away to check on other patients, but I’ll come back in a bit. You tell them what you told me.”

Freya nodded, blinking out a few tears, and Jackson stood to walk out with me. The officers walked in and shut the door while we stood in the hallway reeling over what happened. There was one more walk-in patient in the waiting area, seated on one of the chairs. Jackson took one look at me and grunted.

“I’ve got this. Go collect yourself,” he said, patting me on the shoulder.

There was no time tocollect myself. I pulled my phone out and hid in exam room two to call my father. I had to do this before I lost the nerve. My insides were shaking as it rang through, and all I could think was how angry he’d be when I told him the truth about me and Carter and my plans for the future.

“Soleil? Is everything alright?” Of course he’d ask that. I never called him during the day.

“Yes, Dad. I’m fine. I just wondered if you and Mom would want to have dinner with me? I’d like to talk to you about something important.” This time there was no finger twirling in my hair nervously, no lip worried between my biting teeth. I was determined to be strong and tell him like it was.

“Of course, dear. I’ll let Mom know. Where would you like to eat?” Dad had no idea the storm coming for him. HurricaneSunny was about to make landfall, and I prayed it wasn’t a total catastrophe.

22

CARTER

The air was rife with tension as I sat in the conference room next to Joseph, drumming my fingers on the table that stretched between us and the two doctors we’d linked to the drug trial scandal. That was what we were calling it now—a scandal—because it was likely to turn into one, especially when Kira Baker’s family learned how poorly our team had handled her intake.

Peters, now the ringleader, massaged his temples. We’d been at this for over an hour already, but the men were adamant they could not provide us the specific names of our recruiters who were giving the payouts. Joseph suggested following the money trail, but to investigate our bank transfers, who made them, who approved them, and who initiated them would mean alerting board members, which we were avoiding until we had a potential solution for this problem. The fewer people who knew, the better.

“Gentlemen, we can sincerely appreciate your financial conundrum. You’ve gotten comfortable with the payouts you’ve received from GenOne Pharmaceuticals, but that money is going to stop now whether you help us or not.” Joseph tented hisfingers and leaned over the table with elbows sliding along the smooth, polished wood. “People are being put at risk and being told trading their health for money is okay.”

Peters scoffed and shook his head, wiping one hand down his face. “If your drug trials are safe then why does it matter? You’re telling me side effects can play politics? Joe, you’re blowing smoke. Those people are no different than the ones who hear your commercial and call the hotline.”

It was Wilkinson’s turn to chime in, and I had to control my angry reaction when he spoke. “Peters is right. We’re not doing anything you’re not already doing. You offer a payout to people on the commercials to call in and do the drug trials. How is this baiting and unethical?”

My hands gripped the edge of the table firmly as I forced myself not to stand up. I swallowed hard and gritted my teeth, wanting to lash out at him, but Joseph’s calm demeanor helped smooth things over. He held out a hand toward me to back off, which I tried to do, but in spite of my best attempts to relax, I couldn’t even sit back. I was, however, able to not speak harshly.

“Mr. Wilkinson, we’ve had an incident in Tampa during one of our drug trials where a young woman, unaware of a condition she already suffered from, died from a complication during a drug trial. Now”—Joseph sighed hard and continued—“that was a mistake on the side of our screening department. They took her word as law and didn’t test her for the condition. We’ll deal with that. What is really concerning is how these people are hard up for money and being convinced this is an answer to their problem. A miracle.”

“So, what’s that got to do with us?” Peters was seriously annoying me.

“What’s that got to do with you?” I snipped, and I clenched my jaw to push away the worst of my angry outburst. This was my name, my company they were putting at risk, andpeople whose lives I cared about. “These people are sick, broke, desperate for any solution to their life at times. Some of them don’t even speak proper English, so they can’t inform doctors of preexisting conditions. And so many of them are lying to us about those conditions in order to qualify because the sum they might receive is too tempting. They need the money.”

Wilkinson rolled his head around on his neck and glanced at Peters with an expression of defeat. We all promised when we took that oath, to first do no harm. Convincing desperate people to sign up for drug trials was risky at best, and catastrophic at worst. So far there had been no other fatalities in our trials, but we’d had several instances—which Jackson and I had discovered through this investigation we were doing—where folks had bad side effects that could’ve been prevented.

“Please help us reduce the number of people who are doing risky things. If you don’t give up those names, the recruitment team will just continue pursuing other doctors. This thing will grow, and how many people will be suffering or maybe eventually die because of it?” I implored them with my tone and the pleading expression on my face.

If they weren’t willing to work with us, we’d be forced to go to the board, which meant a whole lot of drama. I wasn’t keen on it, but I’d do it if it meant saving people from suffering or possibly dying.

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