The RX Factor (8 page)

"We're being joined live now by Jacob Sted-man, CEO and chairman of the board of Fisher Singer Worldwide, whose stock is trading at another all-time high. Good morning, Mr. Sted-man, and congratulations on another blowout quarter and what appears to be the best year in the company's history."

Jacob flashed a smile at the camera. It was crucial to appear at ease without looking disin terested, confident but not flip. "Good morning, Allen. And thank you. It was another great year for the company. We grew our revenue and profits by over twenty percent for the fifth year in a row and are extremely optimistic about the future."

"My first question is," Faber began, "how do you guys continue to beat the street quarter after quarter, year after year, when your competitors are experiencing sluggish growth and diminishing earnings?"

Insincere flattery, designed to soften him up before the real questions came. "Well, Allen, I'm not qualified to comment on how our competitors execute their strategies, but I can tell you that since I became CEO at FSW we have been committed to plowing a significant portion of our earnings back into research and development. For the past several years that strategy has paid big dividends, and we believe it will continue to pay big dividends."

Faber's co-anchor joined the fray. "Hello, Mr. Stedman, this is Catherine Bailey. Congratulations on another great year."

"Thank you, Catherine."

"You just mentioned that you attribute much of the company's success to your commitment to heavy R&D spending. Your financial statements show that Fisher Singer Worldwide spent more than one billion dollars last year in R&D alone. That's a thirty percent rise over the previous year, and yet your revenue only increased twenty-two percent in the same amount of time. You already spend significantly more on R&D than any other pharmaceutical company. How long can you continue to increase your R&D budget at a faster pace than your revenue is growing?"

Was this the main thrust of Bailey's probing? Or was she setting him up for a sucker punch?

Stedman nodded thoughtfully. "FSW is committed now and will continue to be committed to growing our revenue and earnings through developing great new drugs that help make peoples' lives better. R&D represents less than fifteen percent of our revenue, so we are very happy with the ratio of R&D expense growth versus revenue growth."

Faber cut in. "You spend more than one billion now on R&D, yet you have also acquired . . . I believe it's eleven companies over the past five years, while your nearest competitor has only made two or three acquisitions over the same time period. Some of these acquisitions have turned out to be complete busts, yet amazingly, your revenue and profits continue to soar. What's your secret?"

Stedman offered another smile for the camera. "It's actually twelve companies over the past five years," he said, correcting Faber. He assumed a solemn expression. "It's true that some of the companies we acquired ended up with drugs we thought could go to market but failed. However, I don't believe any of those acquisitions should be labeled a 'bust' as you call it. With each acquisition, we also brought on some remarkable talents and technologies that have led to other breakthrough discoveries—some of which have already been launched, and many more of which are in the developmental stage—that we're extremely excited about."

Bailey cut in again. "But many analysts have been quoted as saying that you overpaid for several of these acquisitions, that you paid top dollar for companies that were years away from clinical trials. Why is FSW willing to continue to pay such a high price for these small biotech companies with no proven results?"

"Catherine," he replied, relishing the fact that she'd never know the real answer to her question, "we look beyond a company's experimental drug and focus on its technologies and human talent as well. In this business, you have to take some calculated risks; not every promising drug is going to end up passing the FDA's scrutiny." Time for an all-American metaphor. "However, we don't need to hit a home run every time to be successful. If we can hit a few singles and doubles, maybe strike out once or twice, and also hit the occasional home run, then we'll continue to meet and exceed all of our goals. This is the business we're in, and I'm confident our strategy will continue to prove the best course to follow."

"Well," Faber responded, "you can't argue with success. Jacob Stedman, CEO and chairman of the board at Fisher Singer Worldwide, once again, congratulations on another fantastic year, and thanks for joining us."

"It was my pleasure," Stedman lied.

The cameraman lowered the camera, and with that, the interview was over. A crew member helped Stedman remove his earpiece and microphone and thanked him for his time.

"No, thank you," Stedman said. "You guys did a bang-up job—like always."

He offered a round of handshakes, and then he exited alone.

"Fucking reporters," he muttered to himself as soon as he was out of earshot.

On the third morning following his chance
meeting with Jordan, Ryan awoke just after sunrise with a splitting headache and the final words of Pritchard from the night before stuck in his mind:

And if Dr. Carver is involved in any way, she may not be safe.

Ryan reached for the bottle of Jameson on his nightstand. There wasn't much more than a few swallows left. He scratched his head, tilted the bottle to a forty-five-degree angle and held it there for a few moments before deciding to set it back on the bedside table, its contents undisturbed.

As Ryan showered, he pondered Pritchard's statement. He analyzed the facts of the incident and concluded that Pritchard was being overly cautious due to the magnitude of the case. Even so, he decided to change routine and keep on alert. After all, Jordan was the niece of Henry Carver. If the yacht explosion was an act of revenge against the former Wall Street tycoon, then the psycho pulling the strings may not be satisfied until the Ryan wondered what it was about Jordan that intrigued him. He had initially tried to pretend that the bond was formed as a result of her tragic circumstances, but, in a sober moment, he acknowledged to himself that he had been taken with her from the moment he laid his eyes on her. Exuma was a vacation paradise and there was never a shortage of good-looking female tourists, ready and willing for some fun. But up until now, he had had no interest. What was it about her?

After they had breakfast, Ryan suggested a tour of the island. Jordan was concerned about Pritchard, but Ryan assured her that she was free to move around as she pleased so long as she did not leave Exuma. As Jordan showered, Ryan cleaned up the house and then they set off down the road. Despite the rattling muffler, faded red paint, and healthy layer of dust, the open-topped rig of Ryan's fifteen-year-old jeep provided a fine 360-degree-view riding tour.

They were a few miles down on Queens Highway before he said, "This old jeep isn't much to look at, but it handles well on these crummy old island roads. Besides, I don't need anything fancier to get to the few places I need to go." He took his eyes off the road long enough to flash her a grin. "To tell you the truth, about the only places I go are Rosey's and the harbor. Once in a great while, I'll take my diving gear and go up the coast to really be alone."

"Haven't you had enough of the solitude?" she inquired.

He turned toward her, a note of surprise in his voice. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I have." Then, concentrating on the winding road, he said, "I don't do it for the solitude. Solitude gives you time to think and remember, and I don't need that."

"Then why hide away?"

"Good question. I guess I'm doing what comes naturally and not necessarily what's best."

"Do you miss your work? The research?"

"Sometimes. On a rare occasion, I'll sit and think up new ideas and rehash old projects that I left incomplete."

"Have you ever thought about getting back into clinical research?"

"Not really."

She frowned, disappointed. "And I thought you were going to apply for a job at my clinic."

"I still might." Ryan smiled. "But who ever said I was going to apply for a position as research scientist? I'm sure you'll need a maintenance engineer."

"Ha! I've seen your house and there is no way I would ever hire you to be in charge of sanitation."

Ryan shrugged. "Touche."

"Seriously," Jordan continued. "When you rehash old projects, what becomes of that?"

"Nothing, usually. I wind up drinking and forgetting my ideas."

"That's a waste of a good research mind."

"How do you know I'm any good?"

As they hugged the curve of the road entering Emerald Bay, he said, "There's a five-star resort up ahead, but I just got a better idea." Passing the grand hotel—resplendent and luxurious, yet sterile—he geared down and continued up the road. "Maybe you can tell
me
something."

Her eyes sparkled. "Try me."

"Most women as engaging, smart, and . . ." He cut the sentence short, wishing he'd begun differently. "What I want to know is—"

"Why I'm still single," she said flatly. She ran a hand through her long mane in a gesture that was neither contrived nor inhibited. "Let's just say I'm passionate about my work."

"You can't work
and
play?"

"Sure, but can you keep up?"

Ryan chuckled. The woman knew how to dance.

After a few more miles of empty road, they ended up at the Conch Shack, overlooking the ocean in the hamlet of Steventon. Jordan ordered her Captain Morgan and Diet Coke, and Ryan stuck with just a bottle of water, while they waited for the proprietor's sons to return from the bay with fresh conch.

"I've been to Exuma before, but I never knew about this place."

"The best places are the ones the tourists haven't found yet. They catch the conch as the orders are placed. Can't get any fresher than that."

Jordan grinned. "I can't wait."

They were soon enjoying a conch salad and a cup of conch chowder. "You were right, Ryan. Best I've ever had."

As they continued eating, Ryan decided to explore Pritchard's paranoia with Jordan.

"So tell me, do you have any idea if someone would want to do you harm?"

"Well, this guy back in Chicago comes to mind."

"What was his name?"

"Loukas, Victor Loukas. His wife was terminal and received the placebo in one of the clinical trials we were administering. She died nine months later. When her husband found out that she had been given the placebo, he went crazy, threatened everybody involved and vowed revenge."

"I wouldn't read too much into that. He was upset. Vowing revenge was probably just a rash reaction. And coming after you here in Exuma, well, that seems a bit unlikely."

"You're probably right. I really never gave it any thought until you asked."

Jordan took the final bite of her salad. "Although he's mega-rich, developed half of the South Side of Chicago, and owns and occupies a high rise in the Loop that would make Donald Trump proud. The scary part is that he has ties to the mob. At least, that's the rumor. If he really wanted to come after me, I don't think an ocean could stop him. If he did it back in Chicago, he would be a suspect. Here, not a chance. Besides, everyone would focus on my uncle's death and assume it had something to do with Wall Street. It would be the perfect smoke screen."

Ryan's silence was his answer.

She held his eyes. "You think I'm being melodramatic?"

"I never said that."

She couldn't hide her tightening lips. "Now that I think about it, unless they were after my uncle, it has to be Loukas. There's no one else in my life it
could
be."

"No one?" he asked, the question dripping with innuendo.

"No, no one. Sayulita—the clinic—that's my main focus now. That shouldn't make me any enemies. Or at least none that hate me enough to want to see me dead."

Back in the jeep, Ryan had an idea to take their minds off of the investigation. "I hope you brought your bathing suit."

"I'm wearing it under my sarong."

"Good, because I know an incredible beach, private and pristine as the first day of creation."

Jordan smiled, seeming to forget all her troubles for the moment. "How could I say no? Where is it?"

"Not far. It's on Deadman's Cay."

Jordan gave him an
Are-you-messing-with-me
look but said nothing.

The drive along the winding road, with its breathtaking ocean panoramas, had a soothing effect on both of them and their mood rose with each passing mile.

They had just hit a straightaway on the road to Rolleville when a dark blue, older-model sedan roared up behind them. The sedan was moving at twice the speed of Ryan's jeep and didn't slow down until it was a few inches from his rear bumper.

"Oh shit," Ryan muttered under his breath. Noting two dark-skinned male passengers in the sedan, he felt a jolt of adrenaline shoot through his body.
Hey, Pritchard, I think I found your Haitians.

Jordan noticed Ryan's attention to the rear-view mirror. She turned around to look at the trailing sedan, then back at Ryan. "What the hell's going on?"

Ryan had no time to respond. The sedan's engine growled louder, and even as Ryan sped up, they were still gaining ground. A sharp turn was coming up and Ryan downshifted, causing the jeep to buck, pressing them tautly against their lap-only seat belts. They managed to hold the road as they swung around the curve, but the sedan was undeterred and caught back up to them within a few seconds.

"Oh, god!" she exclaimed. "What are they doing? Get us out of here!"

Ryan did not react to Jordan's hysterics. His focus was on the rearview mirror and the road ahead. He was able to gain separation from the sedan around the curves, only to have the sedan catch right back up on each straightaway. A half-mile of straight road lay before them, and Ryan knew he couldn't outrun the other car.

Suddenly they felt the sedan crash into their bumper. The jeep lurched forward and Jordan screamed. Ryan wiped the perspiration out of his eyes and floored the accelerator as they raced down the narrow road surrounded by palm trees on one side and cliffs to the ocean floor below on the other. His hands tightened on the wheel as they barreled toward the next curve a few hundred yards ahead.