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“You sure you’re okay with this—my leaving?”
    â€œYes, of course. I’ll be working with Susan again. She doesn’t need either one of us.”
    Susan grinned at the compliment.
    â€œOkay, great. Let’s all go in and talk with the patient,” George said, motioning them toward the door.
    They put on game faces and entered the imaging chamber. Tarkington was sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling nervously. He was obviously eager for some positive feedback.
    The doctors were all careful not to divulge the bad news, knowing that it would most likely mean more chemotherapy, despite the man’s tenuous kidney function. Claudine spoke as reassuringly as she could while George and Susan nodded.
    Then, as the attendant and Susan got the patient onto his feet, George and Claudine retreated back to the safety of the control room. Talking with a patient destined to receive very bad news underlined the fragility of life. There was no way to be detached about it.
    â€œThat sucked,” Claudine said, sinking into a chair. “I hate not being forthright and honest. I didn’t think that was going to be part of being a doctor.”
    â€œYou’ll get over it,” George said with a casualness he didn’t feel.
    She looked at him, stunned.
    â€œI didn’t mean it like that. But you
will
get over it.” George didn’t know why he had just said that. He hadn’t gotten over anything of the sort. He hedged a little. “To some degree, anyway. You have to, or you won’t be able to do your job. It’s not the ‘not being honest’ part that bothers me as much as the shitty situation itself. We just had a conversation with a very nice man in the prime of his life, with a family, who will in all likelihood soon die. That will always suck.” George busied himself with the files of the upcoming cases so as to not have to look directly at Claudine. “But you have to compartmentalize your feelings so you can continue to do your job, which will help save the lives of those who
can
be helped.”
    She looked at him.
    George sensed her gaze and felt bad. Repeated exposure to such cases had not deadened his own feelings. He looked up at her. “Look . . . ,” he said, searching for the right words. “It’s part of why I went into radiology. So there would be a buffer between me and the patient. I figured if I could deal with the images rather than the patient, I would be better equipped to handle my job.” He motioned to the adjacent room, where they had just left Tarkington. “But as you can see, the buffer has holes in it.”
    They both sat silent for a moment, then George moved to the door. “Well, I have to get a move on—”
    â€œMe, too,” Claudine said softly.
    George looked at her quizzically: Me, too, what?
    â€œIt’s why I went into radiology. And thanks . . . for the honesty.”
    George gave her a melancholy smile and left the room.

2
    CENTURY PLAZA HOTEL
    CENTURY CITY, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
    MONDAY, JUNE 30, 2014, 9:51 A.M.
    A s George walked into the presentation, he felt like a fish out of water. It was obvious to him that the event was primarily for prospective investors in Amalgamated Healthcare. The room was filled with “people of resources.” In other words, people unlike him. George was immediately struck by their custom-tailored business suits, four-hundred-dollar haircuts, and general air of superiority. He was aware that Amalgamated had recently acquired a number of health care companies and hospitals, including the medical center where he worked. The prospect of offering health insurance on a national scale rather than on a state-by-state basis had been part of their acquisition strategy. George assumed the company had thoroughly combed through the 2,700-plus pages of the Affordable Care Act—aka Obamacare—determined to exploit all of the