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morning.”
    â€œOkay, Mom.”
    Despite the conversation’s earlier tone, mother and daughter exchanged heartfelt endearments before disconnecting. For a few moments, Angela sat at her desk. But the phone conversation with her daughter had reminded her of a time and an episode that had been equally as challenging and distressing as the current situation. It had been when she had to deal with both divorce proceedings and the bankruptcy of her inner-city primary-care practice, and the fact that she had survived them gave her confidence in her current circumstance.
    With slightly more optimism than she had had earlier that afternoon, Angela pushed back from her desk, picked up her notes, and emerged from her office. She was surprised to see her secretary, Loren Stasin, sitting dutifully at her desk. Angela had not given the woman a thought over the previous three hours.
    â€œWhy are you still here?” Angela questioned with a touch of guilt.
    Loren shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I thought you might need me.”
    â€œHeavens, no. Go on home! I’ll see you in the morning.”
    â€œDo I need to remind you of your meeting tomorrow morning at the Manhattan Bank and Trust, followed by your meeting with Mr. Calabrese at his office?”
    â€œHardly,” Angela said. “But thank you anyway. Now, you get out of here!”
    â€œThank you, Dr. Dawson,” Loren said while surreptitiously putting away a novel.
    Angela continued down the stark interior hallway. For a multitude of reasons, she wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow’s meetings. She always found it somewhat demeaning to try to raise money, and now, in such a desperate situation, it would be that much more humiliating. Even worse was that one of the people she would be asking for money was her ex-husband. Whenever she met with him, regardless of the reason, it almost never failed to evoke all the emotional turmoil of the divorce, not to mention the vexation she felt toward herself for having married him in the first place. She should have known better. There had been too many subtle suggestions that he would turn out like her father, challenged by her success to the point of encouraging bad behavior.
    At the closed door to the boardroom, Angela paused, took a fortifying breath, then entered. Similar to her private office, the interior was aseptically modern, and dominated by a striking central table composed of a two-inch-thick piece of glass placed on the top of a white marble Ionic capital. The floor was white marble tile. Each of the side walls to the right and left had imbedded flat-screen television monitors for PowerPoint presentations. The far wall was glass, overlooking Fifth Avenue. The gilded and illuminated top of the landmark Crown Building immediately across the street filled the starkly modern room with a reflected warm glow.
    The round table had been Angela’s idea. Her management style emphasized teamwork rather than hierarchy, and the round table was more egalitarian than the usual boardroom fare. Although there were chairs for sixteen people, only six were occupied at the moment. The CFO was by himself at the opposite end, his back to the window. The three hospital presidents were to Angela’s left. The COO was a few chairs away from the CFO, to Angela’s right. The infection-control professional was next to the COO.
    Purposefully, none of the department heads of Angels Healthcare, such as those from supply, laundry, engineering, housekeeping, public relations, personnel, laboratory services, and nursing, medical staff, or outside members of the board, were present. In fact, none had even been notified that the meeting was scheduled, much less invited.
    Angela smiled cordially as she quickly glanced around at individual faces and acknowledged each person. The expressions were mildly apprehensive, except for CFO Bob Frampton, whose fleshy face had an ever-present sleep-deprived appearance, and for