Practicing Partners (Maiden’s Bay #2)

Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

DOC BERNIE HAD been correct. The day was long—one continuous chain of walking patients to and from the exam room, going through the process of the physical, filling out the form, and doing it all over again. Bran hadn’t even realized they’d gotten to the second crew until mid-afternoon, when he had said something about Captain Nick and the crewman corrected him.

The time was quickly approaching five o’clock, and Bran needed to wrap this up. He walked his latest patient back to the front lobby, and luckily no other patients were waiting. Doc and Aubrie were still with theirs.

“Could that be the end of it?” he asked.

Edith looked up from her desk. “Looks to be.” She let out a sigh, her relief on par with Bran’s. “I can lock the door while we have the chance.” She giggled.

Bran checked his watch again. He didn’t want to leave prematurely, but he also didn’t want to be late for his appointment. It was tough enough convincing a lawyer to stay at the office after five and charge the standard rate.

Doc Bernie’s office door opened, and the man spoke a little too loudly to his patient. “And that’s when he said, but it’s not mine, it’s my wife’s!”

Both men broke out in laughter, and the patient shook Doc Bernie’s hand before walking out into the lobby. The patient nodded to Bran, who nodded back, and then he left the practice.

Doc Bernie handed Edith a clipboard, then stretched and fisted his hand quickly before slipping it into his pocket. “All done for the day?”

“I believe so,” Bran said. “I think Aubrie’s finishing up with the last patient.”

“Very good. This would’ve been a three-day event had you two not been here this week.”

Bran faintly smiled. “Happy to help.” Though now he needed to get going, and fast. “Anything like this planned for tomorrow, or anytime soon for that matter?”

“No, no. This was something special, and again, I’m glad it could be done while I had your help. As for tomorrow, who knows what it will bring.”

Edith raised her hand. “Three patients are scheduled for checkups.”

“Oh, well, there you go.” Doc Bernie smiled.

Bran didn’t want to seem in a rush, as if the small-talk wasn’t important, but it was hard not to look in a rush when one was indeed exactly that. “I guess I’ll be off for the evening, then?” He wasn’t going to leave without Doc Bernie’s okay. Even if it meant the attorney had to wait.

Aubrie’s voice carried out of the hallway, and she arrived in the lobby with her last patient. “Have a good evening.”

“You, too.” The man put on his coat and left the office.

“Yeah, that should be okay.” Doc Bernie gave him the go ahead.

“Headed out already?” Aubrie asked.

“Well, funny thing,” Bran said. “This patient, James I think his name was, asked me out for a drink.”

Aubrie shook her head. She was smiling, though, so she didn’t take it too seriously. “Very funny.”

Bran returned the smile but snapped back to his plans. “No, I do have something scheduled, so I’d better get going.”

“Okay.” Aubrie’s glance turned to her feet. Was that a hint of disappointment? Had she expected—heck— wanted to spend time with him?

Edith got up from her desk. “I’d better get to tidying up back there. You have a good night.”

“You, too. To all of you.” Bran put on his jacket, quickly checking for the presence of the envelope he’d tucked inside, and walked out of the front door with a brief wave to the other three. The cloudiness gave a darkness to the early evening hour. He popped his collar slightly and raised his shoulders, his ears and neck getting the brunt of the September wind bite.

His thoughts walking along Pearl Avenue wandered from the day’s busyness to Aubrie. He had definitely caught something from her reaction to him leaving. But she was asked out by one of the men today and had agreed to see him. So, why would she be disappointed if Bran was going somewhere without her tonight?

Maybe she simply viewed him as a colleague. Or a friend. That was a good thing, right? Yet why did either label not sit right with Bran? What exactly did he expect from her?

He threw the thoughts away for another time. He checked behind him as he turned away from the sea and worked up the hill for two blocks. The office of Mitch Henderson sat on the corner of N Street and Falmouth Drive, near the outskirts of the main set of businesses in town. Yep, two blocks wide, up the hill, was enough for Maiden’s Bay’s shops. Not many people wanted to roam about town window shopping if they had to go too far from the flat portion of Pearl Avenue.

Not that he thought Doc Bernie or Aubrie would’ve followed him, but he didn’t want them to see where he was headed. If they did, then they might ask questions, the answers of which were not exactly good no matter how he’d try to frame them.

He peeked into the front windows of the law office, the lights still on, thankfully. If Mr. Henderson had canceled, Bran would have to make up another excuse to either miss in the morning or leave work early.

He walked in, the dark cabinetry and carpeting like that of an Ivy League library. A dark-haired woman, a few years younger than him, sat at a desk in the lobby. Her hair was tied back in a sleek ponytail, and she held up a finger for him to wait as she spoke on the phone.

“No, I am aware. Mmmhmm. Yes, tomorrow. Have a good evening.” She hung up the receiver and stood, straightening her gray jacket matching her pencil skirt. “For your sake, I hope you’re Mister Jackson.” She reached out, and Bran shook her hand.

“Yes, Bran.”

“Chloe Reynolds.”

“Are you meeting with me?”

“Oh, no. I focus mostly on maritime law. It’d be a bit of a reach for your needs.”

Bran nodded. “I see.”

“But go on back. Mister Henderson has been expecting you.”

“Thank you. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Chloe grabbed her purse and headed for the front door.

The fact no one was in the office besides him and Mitch Henderson fluttered his insides. It’s not that he wanted this meeting to happen. He needed it to happen. That didn’t mean he’d like it.

Bran approached a door matching the rest of the dark wood. It sat slightly ajar, and he knocked before stepping any closer.

“Come in.”

He entered the office, situated in the back corner of the building. The window facing north let in the little evening light remaining, unlike the east window covered by Roman shades.

Mr. Henderson stood, a sleek, thin man a good two inches taller than Bran’s five-foot-eleven. The sleekness carried through his frame to his face and even down to his nose. He had the lanky body type of a basketball player, though judging from the framed pictures, model airplanes, and Civil War history books on the shelves, he wasn’t much of a sports guy.

“You must be Bran Jackson.” The men shook hands. “Nice to meet you. Mitch Henderson.”

“Thanks for meeting me like this.” Bran took a seat in front of the desk following Mitch’s lead. He fixated on a framed photo of the man, in a woven top and large headdress, amid many others dressed in the same fashion.

“Coast Salish,” he said.

“Excuse me?” Bran diverted his attention back to Mr. Henderson.

“Coast Salish on my mom’s side, many generations back.”

There were several descendants of many tribes living in the area, some more known than others. Bran had heard of Salish, considering the Salish Sea bore their name.

“How about we get to it?” Mr. Henderson shifted two binders from the side of his desk to the middle. “I did much of the preliminary work you asked for.” He opened a binder and turned it around for Bran to see. “It took some digging, but I got lucky with your grandfather’s accountant, who owed me a favor. I’ve laid out the estimated value of the property, equipment, furniture, payroll info, the trajectory of the pool of patients, et cetera.” He pointed to a number at the bottom of the list in bold. “That is the estimated valuation of the practice.”

Bran nodded, the number about fifty grand more than what he estimated offhand.

“Of course, this doesn’t include estimates of intangibles.”

“Intangibles?”

“Loyalty of patients, for one. Doc Bernie practicing on Sundays even though officially the practice is closed. Those kinds of things can add up. Also, with you being a trauma surgeon, that could potentially add quite the asset, not to mention how much that would do for this town to have someone like you so close by.” Mr. Henderson leaned back in his chair. “That is, if you mean to expand the practice and use those skills.”

He waited for Bran’s reaction, but Bran had no intention of telling this attorney his plans. It was on a need-to-know basis, and Mr. Henderson need not know.

“All of this laid out, I should say, is under the assumption you will resume what the practice already is. So, of course, any changes will affect that bottom number.”

“I understand.” Bran briefly scanned the itemized list again. “And transferring it to my name?”

“That’s a grayer area. Without speaking with your grandfather, I’m not sure what his intentions are. I can only guess that if he’s not outright selling you the business up front, then he will ask for a percentage moving forward.” Mr. Henderson shrugged. “Or maybe he’ll gift it to you for all I know.”

Gifting would be the optimal scenario, but Bran didn’t want Doc Bernie to go without supplemental income during his retirement. Certainly he expected some sort of monetary compensation for handing it over.

“And let’s not forget, all of this is contingent upon Doc Bernie choosing you as his successor.”

It was the first acknowledgment of Aubrie, of someone else within finger’s reach of owning the practice, and it tightened Bran’s throat.

“Oh, don’t be so surprised,” Mr. Henderson said. “I know about that bit of competition he has you two undergoing. Announcing at his birthday party set that in motion. Too many gossip worker bees there to not spread the word wide.” He leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “Can I ask you a personal question? Not lawyer to client, but with that confidentiality attached.”

Bran sucked in a breath. “Sure.”

“Do you really want this place? The practice?” He leaned back again, this time placing his hands on his head, elbows spread out like wings. “I know we don’t personally know each other, but I know of you. You left town, became a successful trauma surgeon at a prestigious hospital in Seattle. I mean, why, of all the places and occupations to change to, you choose this family practice in Maiden’s Bay?”

Bran opened his mouth to sound a canned response, but Mr. Henderson wasn’t done.

“I mean, if it was about loyalty to family, there wouldn’t be competition, would there? The fact your grandfather has you vying for this against a stranger, someone from halfway across the country… sounds to me like he doubts the strength of the family ties.”

It was too much to listen to. The fact he was relying on Doc Bernie’s trust, their familial connection, made it worse. Bran was playing off of it to secure his place in the world, or at least that of the trauma center at Seattle University Hospital. He had kept the secret long enough and wanted to shout it out to this attorney he’d known for a few minutes. He needed this practice to hand it over to the Seattle University Hospital system, which was looking to expand its program of creating smaller community centers across the state. That Bran was an asset not only with his skills, but was able to procure a new location that already had the lion’s share of patients in town. That patients with further needs could then be transferred to Seattle, rather than the smaller, local hospital in White Bend.

Not that he was guilty of what triggered his probation. But surely with this practice under his belt, the university would not hesitate to reinstate his position and let him continue to rise in the ranks at the hospital.

But all of that involved, to put it as it should be put, screwing over his grandfather. There was no way of sugar-coating it. He would betray Doc Bernie’s trust and create a larger rift between himself and the family. Himself and the town. It would be a blow to the town to hurt Doc Bernie. Bran couldn’t ever come back after that.

There was an added layer now, which his thoughts pulled him to as he sat in the attorney’s office of Mitch Henderson. And that was of Aubrie Turnbridge. The woman whose trust in him was building, the woman who occupied his thoughts more frequently and raced his heart.

Mr. Henderson awaited an answer, and Bran pulled up the closest lie to the truth he could muster. “Because I couldn’t not choose this practice. That’s why.”

Mitch handed over the binder, his face blank. Why did Bran care what he thought? He was paying for this man’s services, and the relationship was purely transactional. Bran carried the binder to the front door, Mitch seeing him out.

“Have a good evening.”

“You, too.”

Bran exited, stopping on the sidewalk down the street when he reached the first blue mailbox. He retrieved the two sheets of paper from the binder that were required and placed them in the stamped envelope with the other materials he’d gotten ready this morning. He looked side to side, as if someone were to catch it was addressed to Seattle University Hospital Health Care Real Estate Group and rush over to stop him. He slipped it in the box, double-checking it disappeared from the metal door.

As he walked away, he couldn’t help feeling the envelope wasn’t the only thing he’d left behind.