Page 27 of Ten Day Affair
“I’m not most people.” I take a long sip. Let the burn settle low.
“No, you’re the guy orchestrating a complete surgical gut job of a legacy hospital while pretending to care about wellness and community outreach.”
He says it without malice. Just facts.
I glance out the window and watch the cabs crawl down 7th. “It’s not pretending. It’s strategic alignment. Atthe end of the day, this keeps the hospital open, so it's good for everyone. Even if they don't realize it yet.”
"Truth."
“We keep the urgent care center open, maintain community branding for another quarter. Change is always hard at first, but that hospital is changing no matter what. We are just guiding it.”
Dorian grins. “Spoken like a man who charges $1,500 an hour to rename layoffs.”
I shrug. “You make it sound so cold. I didn't invent this problem. I'm just offering a solution.”
Dorian chuckles. “You're the boss.”
“You know why we bought the debt.”
“Of course.” He leans forward, tone dropping.
"This one is a no-brainer. It's in Palm Beach, for Christ's sake."
“You got in cheap. We have limitless ways to restructure operations. Cut bloat, boost profit, polish the asset. Then we sell the paper to some healthcare REIT for double, possibly triple. It's what dreams are made of.”
“Triple if we move fast,” I say. “Before the next reporting cycle hits. Q4 needs to show upward movement, or the buyout valuation takes a hit.”
Dorian nods. “And if the REIT gets a turnkey operation with pre-vetted concierge infrastructure, everyone's happy.”
“Then we’ve got a $200M asset we bought for forty-seven. Plus a six percent yield on whatever debt’s still tied up in the conversion phase.”
“You should write fortune cookies for sociopaths. That’s cold as hell,” he mutters, sipping again.
“It’s business,” I say, even though the Taylor Wing still burns in the back of my mind.
“Semantics.”
That’s the plan. Clean. Clinical. It’s worked a hundred times before.
But this one came with a wildcard I didn’t see coming. Her. The daughter of the woman whose name is etched across their most sentimental, least profitable wing.
“Did they vote on the concierge model yet?” Dorian asks.
“Not officially. But it’s headed that way.” I keep my tone even. Strategic. “The CFO’s pushing numbers hard. They’re softening the board.”
"Good."
“East wing conversion, private surgical suites, high-margin diagnostics. We make the place elite, exclusive, and turn it into a money-printing hospital.”
“And you’re steering the ship from the board seat they handed you without realizing you were the guy holding the purse strings. Brilliant.”
“After this trip and the vote, we should be done with our part.”
“And your girl?” he asks like it’s nothing, like we’re talking about office furniture.
“She’s notmyanything,” I say too fast.
"Touchy."
