Boris whipped his pen across what felt like the thousandth document that morning, completely the final stroke with a flourish. He lay the writing implement on his desk, grateful to be finished with the most tedious part of his day. He flexed his hand experimentally. No weakness or tremors. Nothing to cause concern. Still he knew the day was soon coming when that would no longer be so. Boris pulled his mind from the morbid thought. Dwelling on the issue solved nothing. He directed his mind to something more stimulating. Dr. Hank Lawson.

His mercy to the gate crasher had been rewarded in the most unexpected of ways. At a few minutes past eleven security had approached Boris, carrying the news of a medical crisis. One of the models, April, had collapsed. As Boris approached the room he'd found himself passing a stream of exiting bystanders. They'd flitted away from the scene of crisis, excitedly whispering to one another about Dr. Silver's dreadful mistake. Apparently Boris' personal physician had misidentified the cause of the girl's ailment, and a good samaritan had intervened.

Upon entering the room he'd recognised the second figure kneeling over the body of the young woman. Dr Henry Lawson. Surprisingly Silver had seceded authority over the emergency, letting the newcomer conduct the exam and interview. Had it been the shock of nearly committing malpractice? Or had it been the instinctual awareness of his relative inferiority? Boris had quietly observed as Dr. Lawson diagnosed and treated the young woman's condition within a matter of moments. It was impressive to say the least.

Dr. Lawson's ability as a physician hadn't been the only intriguing thing about him. There was also the complete lack of awe he'd displayed for Boris. Even society's upper echelons treated him very carefully. The good doctor did not. Instead he'd exhibited mild disdain and hostility. It was exceptionally rare for Boris to discover someone who neither feared him, nor sought to profit from him. The man's attitude was doubly strange when one accounted for the fact that Dr. Lawson was currently buried under crushing debt, with lawsuits pending. When Boris had received that bit of intelligence this morning, he'd felt quite pleased rather about the garish parting gift he'd bestowed the night before.

It had been impulsive certainly, having his team deposit a gold bar into the backseat of Dr. Lawson's dated automobile. Initially he'd only planned to write the man a check for $5000. That had changed with Hank's presumption that Boris' "thanking him" meant the verbal exchange of civilities. He had neither expected, nor accepted financial compensation for his work. "Hank" as the man apparently prefered had refused payment on ethical grounds and then proceeded to scold Boris. No one had done that in years. Even Dieter, his long standing retainer, contented himself with the rare passive aggressive remark. The novelty was quite something.

Scouring his memory Boris realized that the last person to directly criticize his behavior was Marissa. He closed his eyes a moment, breathing through the brief, but agonizing stab in his chest. Five years and he still felt her absence. Perhaps that explained his favorable reaction to Dr. Lawson, despite the fact his regard was clearly not yet reciprocated. He missed having someone in his orbit who would speak the truth, regardless of self-interest.

At that moment the door to his office opened revealing Dieter and a wary-looking Dr. Silver. Right on time. No point in beating about the bush.

"Dr. Silver. I regret to inform you your medical services will no longer be required at Shadow Pond. I must ask you to vacate the guest house by 9 am tomorrow morning." He watched the blood pool in the doctor's face. He'd hoped the man would go quietly, but it seemed that was not to be.

"You can't be serious! It was one mistake, which I didn't even make-" Boris cut him off mid sentence, unwilling to endure the man's blustering.

"Only because you were prevented." Boris' interjection brought on a flash of chagrin, followed by sullen resentment to Silver's face.

"By the hotshot, yeah. I presume he's who you're planning to replace me with? I heard he announced to the entire room that he was fired for letting a rich patient die. Not someone I would have thought you wanted on your payroll." Yes, that might have been troubling, except for the fact Dr. Lawson HAD told Boris as well as a room of gossip mongers about the incident. It suggested the event caused him no shame. Boris had trouble believing that a man of conscience, as Dr. Lawson seemed to be, would be so cavalier had he actually been responsible for the patient's death. Still a second opinion never hurt medical matters.

"That is actually the primary reason I summoned you today." Boris opened a drawer and withdrew two folders that had been delivered to him that morning. His investigators really were quite efficient. He set the small stack onto the desktop. "I have the files regarding the incident. I'd like your opinion." Silver's eyes narrowed at the folders in question, making no move to pick them up.

"You want my opinion on the guy who's stealing my job?" Boris shrugged nonchalantly, none too worried about Silver eventual compliance. The man was arrogant, but not a complete fool.

"Regardless of your error last evening, I continue to respect your years of experience. Besides, Doctor Lawson is not the reason you'll be relocating your practice. He's the reason you'll still have one."

Silver had made a nearly fatal mistake and had done so publicly before a swarm of socialites. His time as a Hamptons concierge doctor had ended the moment he'd misdiagnosed the model. It was only thanks to the younger doctor's intervention that Dr. Silver wasn't facing lawsuits and a license review. He could start over in a new city with little trouble, particularly if he had a reference from Boris. If the man proved uncooperative however, then his prospects would be far worse.

Silver broke their staring contest first, as Boris knew he would. He waited expectantly while the experienced physician flipped through pages of what Boris had found to be largely incomprehensible medical jargon. At last Silver looked up.

"You don't want him." The doctor tossed both files back on the desk.

"Explain." Boris scanned the man's face carefully, unwilling to accept Silver's pronouncement at face value.

"Two patients. Random basketball player and VIP. Lawson came in with the basketball player on his day off and his admin reassigned him to the VIP. After he finished with the VIP, he returned to the basketball player and performed some very impressive medicine. The basketball player lived and is expected to make a full recovery. Complications ensued with the VIP while Lawson's out of the room. He dies."

"Was Dr. Lawson at fault?" Silver shrugged.

"Depends on your point of view. From this limited snapshot, I'd say the hotshot is good enough that if he'd stayed with the VIP, he might have been able to save him. But Lawson didn't stay with the VIP, despite the orders of his boss. To him your life and the life of the guy that scrubs your toilets are equally important. You want someone who puts your needs first, last, and everything in between." Boris ignored Silver's assessment about the qualities he required in his personal physician. He needed more data.

"What were the odds the complications would occur with Mr. Gardener?"

Silver's lips tightened briefly before reluctantly replying, "Less than 1%."

"And the chances the basketball player would have perished without Lawson's care?"

"90%, give or take."

"And in his place you would have…"

"Remained with the VIP, because that is what you people expect." Ah, yes, his 'people.' The uber wealthy. How Boris adored being lumped in with every selfish entitled member of his tax bracket.

"Thank you Dr. Silver. You have been most helpful." He nodded at Dieter, who passed Dr. Silver his final check. "Dieter will be by the guest house tomorrow to provide any final assistance you may require." For a moment Boris thought Silver would attempt to gain the last word. Instead the man wisely chose to swallow his final retort and march out the way he came.

Boris drummed his fingers on his desk. It seemed his instincts about Dr. Hank Lawson were vindicated. A brilliant doctor with integrity had fallen into his lap, just at the point in his life when he required a trustworthy medical professional. Karma, it seemed, had chosen to favor him, at least in this matter. True, Dr. Lawson seemed reluctant to remain in the Hamptons, but Boris had already taken steps to change the man's mind.

Last night he had instructed Dieter to circulate the doctor's cell phone number and temporary address. With any luck Dr. Lawson would find himself with several new patients before the weekend's conclusion. If the financial advantages of establishing himself as a Hampton's concierge doctor weren't enough to sway him, then perhaps practicing medicine once more would. No one achieved excellence in a field without an intrinsic passion for that field. Even if the clientele private physicians attracted weren't precisely to his taste, the Gardeners punitive blackballing meant Dr. Lawson's choices were rather limited. All in all Boris felt his odds of success were more than fair. All that was left was to wait and see.