Blue Moon (Jack Reacher #24)(23)

“So the Shevicks made a mistake by signing the paper.”

“We can’t discuss the Shevicks,” Gino said. “There are confidentiality issues.”

“Theoretically,” Reacher said. “Hypothetically. Would it be a mistake for hypothetical parents to sign the paper?”

“Of course it would,” Isaac said. “Think about it from a bureaucrat’s point of view. The patient is getting treatment. The bureaucrat doesn’t care how. All he knows is there’s no negative PR liability for him. So he can take his sweet time. The hypothetical parents should have stood firm and said no. They should have refused to sign.”

“I guess they couldn’t bring themselves to do that.”

“I agree, it would have been tough, under the circumstances. But it would have worked. The bureaucrat would have been obliged to get his checkbook out. Right there and then. No choice.”

“It’s an education thing,” Gino said. “People need to know their rights ahead of time. It can’t be done in the moment. It’s your kid, lying on a gurney. There’s too much emotion.”

Reacher asked, “Is anything going to happen in the next seven days?”

No one answered.

Which Reacher figured was an answer in itself.

Eventually Julian said, “The problem is, now they have time to argue. The government fund is taxpayer money. The legislation is unpopular. Therefore the government will want the insurance fund to pay. The insurance fund is shareholder money. Bonuses depend on it. Therefore the insurance fund will bounce it back to the government, over and over again, as long as it takes.”

“For what?”

“For the patient to die,” Isaac said. “That’s the big prize for the insurance fund. Because then we’re into a whole other argument. The surrogate contractual relationship was between the no-fault fund and the deceased. What is there to reimburse? The deceased spent no money. Her care was funded by the generosity of relatives. Which happens all the time. Medical donations between family members are so common the IRS has a whole separate category. But it’s not like buying stock in a corporation. You don’t benefit from an eventual upside. There’s a clue in the name. It’s a donation. It’s a gift, freely given. It doesn’t get reimbursed. Especially not by and to parties who weren’t even in the original voided agreement. It’s a matter of legal principle. Precedents are unclear. It could go all the way to the Supreme Court.”

“So nothing in the next seven days?”

“We’d be happy with the next seven years.”

“They’re deep into loan sharks.”

“The bureaucrat doesn’t care how.”

“Do you?”

Julian said, “Our clients won’t let us anywhere near their financial business.”

Reacher nodded.

He said, “They don’t want you to burn their boats.”

“Their words exactly,” Gino said. “They feel busting the loan sharks would leave them with no access to money in the future, should they need it, which experience tells them they probably will.”

Reacher asked, “Do they have other legal remedies anywhere?”

“Hypothetically,” Julian said. “The obvious strategy would be a civil suit against the delinquent employer. Absolutely couldn’t fail. But obviously never pursued in a case like this, because the cause of action itself will have already exposed the defendant as a fraud, thereby ruining him, thereby giving the successful plaintiff no assets to collect against.”

“Nothing else they can do?”

“We petition the court on their behalf,” Gino said. “But they stop reading where it says she’s getting treatment anyway.”

“OK,” Reacher said. “Let’s hope for the best. Someone just told me a week is a long time. Thanks for your help. Much appreciated.”

He backed away and pushed the door and stepped out to the street. He stopped on the corner to fine tune his direction. A right and a left, he thought. That should do it.

Behind him he heard the door open again. He heard footsteps on the sidewalk. He turned and saw Isaac walking toward him. The one who was neither dark nor fair. He was five-nine, maybe, and solid as a bull seal. His pants were cuffed.

He said, “I’m Isaac, remember?”

“Isaac Mehay-Byford,” Reacher said. “J.D. from Stanford Law. Tough school. Congratulations. But I’m guessing you’re from the other coast originally.”

“Boston,” he said. “My dad was a cop there. You remind me of him, a little bit. He noticed things, too.”

“Now you’re making me feel old.”

“Are you a cop?”

“I was,” Reacher said. “Once upon a time. In the army. Does that count?”

“It might,” Isaac said. “You could give me some advice.”

“About what?”

“How did you come to know the Shevicks?”

“I helped him out of a jam this morning. He hurt his knee. I walked him home. They told me the story.”

“His wife calls me now and then. They don’t have many friends. I know what they’re doing for money. Sooner or later they’re going to run out of room.”

“I think they already have,” Reacher said. “Or they will, in seven days.”