Page 52 of Gone Before Goodbye
“Yes.”
“And who was your biggest donor?”
“The Kasselton Foundation.”
“Operated by?”
“I don’t know. I mean, the financial stuff was more Trace’s area of expertise. I met a few board members—”
“Oleg Ragoravich,” Charles Lockwood says.
She almost takes a step back.
“You really didn’t know?” Charles seems amused now. “The Kasselton Foundation is funded by none other than our host.”
Maggie just stands there and tries not to look surprised. She isn’t sure what to say and doesn’t want to make the mistake of saying more. She doesn’t know Charles Lockwood. She doesn’t get what’s going on or why he’s here or if she should believe him. In her peripheral vision, she spots Nadia making her way toward them, wearing a shimmery silver gown. The crowd parts Red Sea–like as she strides with runway grace toward them. All heads turn and follow.
Charles Lockwood leans closer to Maggie and whispers, “Take care of yourself, Maggie. Stay alert.”
Then he slips away.
Maggie debates going after him, but Nadia arrives before she can make a move. Maybe that’s for the best. What else is there to know? Charles Lockwood would have no reason to lie about Ragoravich. Or would he? And if he wasn’t lying, well, what did that mean? Was Oleg Ragoravich the man who gave the original seed money for WorldCures Alliance? And if he is a former supporter of WorldCures, does it matter?
Yes, it does.
Because if he is, it means Maggie’s being here—her being chosen as their personal surgeon—is not a coincidence.
But maybe that makes sense. Maybe Ragoravich and Brovski already know and vetted her work with WorldCures. She would have been a known entity to them. Maybe that’s why she was hired—a surgeon they had some knowledge about, some connection to and familiarity with, would be a comfort, no?
Nadia arrives. “Ivan says you have questions about me.”
“I do,” Maggie says. “About your health records.”
She nods, her wide eyes scanning the room. “Can I ask a question first?”
“Of course.”
“How long do I need to fast before the surgery tomorrow?”
“Twelve hours would be optimal.”
A hint of a smile crosses Nadia’s face. “So that gives us time to eat a little, no?”
“It does.”
“Let’s start with the caviar. But also? Gesture a lot. Like we don’t speak the same language.”
“Got it.”
“And pretend you’re speaking to other people when you can. Like don’t always look directly at me.”
Maggie agrees. For the next half hour, she and Nadia peruse the various tasting stations. The Tajimi-ushi-variety Kobe beef topped with Alba white truffles—the bite-size portion probably cost more than Maggie’s car—melts in the mouth, forcing both closed eyes and some kind of involuntary vocal reaction. Maggie bides her time. She doesn’t immediately ask about the kidney donation. There are two reasons for that, though they are somewhat closely related. One reason, the most obvious, is that she and Nadia are bonding in perhaps the oldest way known to mankind—breaking bread together. They enjoy the rare delicacies, relish them, close their eyes and savor every bite. Nadia’s joy in the experimental tasting is childlike and endearing. Maggie can feel Nadia’s trust grow with each bite. Maggie lets herself get immersed in this experience as well—Reason Two—channeling her father, who expressed his appreciation for modern life with gusto and enthusiasm.
“We live in the greatest era in human history,” her father would tell his daughters. He would then explain that there was less war, pestilence, disease, crime, starvation than any time ever. Then he would move on to food. “The vast majority of humans have known very little variety in taste. Empires rose and fell, people were conquered and slaughtered, merely to add spice and flavoring to their palates. Think about it. A hundred, two hundred years ago, only the most elite of elite got to experience one or two other cultures’ food. Now all of us can walk through any city and within a mile you can eat Chinese, Indian, Thai, French, Italian. You can have lamb from New Zealand, pompano from Florida, barbecue from Texas. If you told even the richest king that would be possible, he would have never believed it. What we take for granted is nothing short of a miracle.”
So, keeping that in mind, Maggie and Nadia laugh. They share. They analyze the various delicacies. They stay with food, skipping the stations with “pharmaceuticals” and “gurus” to guide you through whatever psychoactive drug experience you might imagine. They alsobypass the various alcohol tastings, though a few of the vodka ones tempt Maggie more than she wants to admit.
Finally, Nadia says, “Ask your questions.”
