Crossfire (Cross Duet #1)

24. GRAYSON

24

GRAYSON

“What do you mean?” Ivy’s expression was guarded, the uncertainty in her features telling me a lifetime of challenges made her suspicious of anything that sounded too good to be true. After all, hope was nothing but a painful force when left shattered.

“Compassionate Care is a chain that’s part of a corporate structure with leaders and a board of directors. My brother Jace is a CEO. He sits on various boards in the area and knows other board members for various organizations. Including this one.”

Ivy shifted her footing, and when she spoke, her tone was low. “How can you be so sure he knows one of the board members of this place?”

I shoved my hands into my pockets.

“Because years ago, Dr. Benjamin Hayes was one of the doctors who helped my mother when she was sick. He stayed in touch with our family, mostly Jace.”

Her chest swelled slightly.

“I don’t know if it would help, but perhaps I could talk to him on your behalf. See if there’s anything he could do to help.”

“How would talking to him help?”

I could tell she wasn’t pushing back on the idea; this was simply a woman who wasn’t seasoned in having connections in powerful places and was trying to understand, tactically speaking, what this would do about her bill.

“Give you more time to pay perhaps.”

Ivy didn’t know my family was loaded, that my father ran a Fortune 500 that his father had built, and the entire family fortune went to his four sons when he died.

“I can call my brother.” I shrugged slightly. “See if he can set up a meeting.”

Ivy bit her lip.

This woman must have prided herself on being independent, solving all her problems on her own. Look at the lengths she went to try and solve this one—risking her life.

But her pride had to be calculating the stakes for her grandmother. If she was willing to die to save her, would she be willing to accept help from someone? Even if that person had just hurt her feelings? I knew, somehow already, what her answer would be—that Ivy was the type of person to set her ego aside.

“That would be wonderful,” she conceded, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

The struggle played out across her face—pride battling with practicality—and the fact that she was able to swallow her ego made me admire her even more. Not many people would be selfless enough to do that.

“Thank you,” she added.

Her words were simple, but her eyes told a more complex story. Beneath her gratitude was a shadow of disappointment in herself for not being able to solve this problem alone.

I hoped she knew that her willingness to accept help wasn’t a sign of weakness to me, but rather strength. One that many people, myself included, often struggled to find.

“In the meantime”—I glanced at the sign, then back at her—“would it be all right if I came in with you? Perhaps there’s someone here today that might help?”

“As I’m sure you’re aware, we are bound by strict privacy laws, including HIPAA, which protects the privacy of residents’ health information.”

I leaned back in my seat and steepled my fingers, irritated with the man sitting in front of me. I didn’t expect to see a board member here—they weren’t part of the daily operations of running a facility like this—but I had been hoping that maybe a senior-level leader would be here today.

Instead, I got this middle-management guy, Everett Vasquez.

I had come inside with Ivy, and after we spoke to the front-desk receptionist, who guided us to the billing administrator, who guided us to this guy, I’d asked to speak with him alone.

Ivy had been hesitant; this was her mess, but she left me to take my shot and was currently visiting her Grams.

“I’m not asking for the patient’s medical records. Only billing information,” I clarified.

“Which has confidential patient information on it,” he said. “Ivy has the billing information. If you want that, you can get it from her.”

I tried. Before we came inside, I asked Ivy if she had any digital copies of the bill in question that she could arm me with for this conversation, but all I’d been able to get her to agree to was my trying to get an extension.

Couldn’t blame her. She’d only known me a couple of days and agreeing to let someone speak on your behalf was very different from handing them a confidential financial file that contained her grandmother’s information.

I’d almost told her I had the means to pay the bill, no matter how large, but feared it would scare her off. I mean, why would some guy she just met offer to pay for it?

It would send off an explosive red flare, and I needed to stay close to her to help clear her by the CIA for the garage incident. The last thing this woman needed was more stress in her life. Like, for example, getting hauled in for intense questioning by the CIA.

So, this conversation wasn’t just about the money; if I got my hands on that bill, I’d get Ivy’s grandmother’s last name. This woman was Ivy’s father’s mother, so the grandmother should share the same last name as Ivy.

Once I had that, I could clear her for good and finally put this CIA mess behind her so she could move on with her life.

“You’re free to scrub the bill of any sensitive information,” I suggested. “As I said, I’m just a friend, trying to help find a path to get this financial situation resolved.”

“The answer’s no,” Everett said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a lot to do.”

The man was rather ugly when he was disagreeable, smoothing that bushy mustache of his.

“What if I agree to pay a portion of the balance today?” I asked.

Ivy might assume a decrease in the total balance was due to a discount, not some man she’d just met paying it for her.

Everett blinked.

“Surely, the prospect of securing a payment would be beneficial, yes? Say 25%?” I continued. “If you show me the statement, I can wire funds here by this evening.”

Everett rubbed his mustache. The thing was like a pet on his face.

He took a long time to answer, but come on . Money. Cash.

“I might be able to do that,” he finally said.

Yes.

“Provided Ivy signs a consent form.”

No.

“The payment needs to be anonymous, and it needs to show on the invoice as a discount.”

Everett stopped grooming his pet.

“Ivy is a proud woman,” I explained. “She won’t allow me to pay the bill on her behalf.”

Everett’s attention swept to two plaques hanging on his wall. A bronze plate was engraved with his name beneath the title, Administrator of the Year . For two years running, but not last year. Last year had no such award for him, and here we were, late in the fall, the year closing in on him.

Surely, financials were a factor in winning that award.

“I can tell you the balance,” Everett said.

I cocked my head. “Do I strike you as the type of man who would blindly hand over money with no documentation? Give me a statement—again, redact sensitive information—and the money will be in the account by the end of the day.”

His lips thinned. What a little conundrum this guy was in.

“I can probably give you a statement balance only,” Everett finally agreed.

“With the patient’s name on it,” I said. “My wire will be directed to pay her bill, no one else’s.”

Everett looked at his computer screen. “I’ll have to run this past my boss.”

Damn it.

“I think she’ll be okay with it, but I need to check. Leave me your information, and if she approves, I’ll send it to you by the end of the day.”

At least the tone of his voice suggested this was just a formality.

Which meant, within a few hours, I should finally have Ivy’s last name.