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- Herausgeber: Next Chapter
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
After cardiologist John Brown is incarcerated in a private prison in Miami, he and his cellmates learn firsthand how the private prison system works in Florida.
Meanwhile, Nicole Rodriguez and her team at the Miami Post start digging into the prison industry, and the leadership of Homestead Correctional Facility. Soon, they discover a complex web of corruption that runs deeper than they could have ever expected.
As John and Nicole's paths cross, the dark underbelly of the private prison system begins to come to light, and they come face to face with a group of powerful players who will stop at nothing to reach their goals.
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
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CASHING IN
THE CORRUPTION KINGS
JONATHAN D. ROSEN
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Acknowledgments
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About the Author
Copyright (C) 2021 Jonathan D. Rosen
Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter
Published 2021 by Next Chapter
Cover art by CoverMint
Edited by Shannon Evans
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.
1
John Brown’s palms were sweating. He began to shake his legs uncontrollably.
“John, I need you to relax. Things are going to be okay,” whispered his lawyer, Alfredo Gómez. “You need to keep your composure. Everything is going to work out.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m so nervous. I will do my best.”
Alfredo patted John on the back. Alfredo had been practicing criminal law in Miami for twenty-five years and knew how to comfort his clients during tense situations.
“Dr. Brown. I understand that you have accepted the plea agreement offered to you by the Assistant State Attorney. Is that correct?” asked Judge Stewart Decker.
“Yes, Your Honor. That is correct.”
Judge Stewart Decker removed his glasses from his head and put the temple tips in his mouth.
“Dr. Brown, would you like to address the court?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” John said as he approached the stand.
“Your Honor, I recognize that I have an addiction to opioids. I suffered tremendous back pain after my car accident. The pain management doctor gave me Oxycodone, and I became hooked on this highly addictive drug. I am confident that I can receive treatment and continue my work as a cardiologist. I have had the privilege of helping save people’s lives, and I am asking you to spare my life so I can continue to be a productive citizen. I am begging for your mercy,” John said as he started to cry.
Alfredo adjusted his tie and stood up. “Your Honor, we would like to call several character witnesses.”
Three of John’s colleagues took the stand, one at a time, and said that John was a wonderful person and colleague. Moreover, John’s boss at Miami Cardiology and two other friends told the judge that John was an excellent person, but he needed help for his addiction to opioids.
“Judge, Dr. John Brown is an outstanding citizen,” said Alfredo. “He has made some mistakes. However, we are confident that he can turn things around and make a positive impact on society. Dr. Brown is not a career criminal. He is not some drug kingpin. He is someone who needs help. We ask the court for mercy. Thank you, Your Honor.”
“Thank you,” said the judge. “I accept your plea. The defense is asking for zero jail time and probation, while the State Attorney’s office is seeking three years in state prison. Dr. John Brown, I hereby find you guilty of possession of a controlled substance. Dr. Brown, you were pulled over by the Miami Dade Police for speeding and reckless driving. The police report indicates that you swerved and almost hit another car. The officer found dozens of bottles of Oxycodone in your vehicle. Moreover, you have admitted using these pills while at work. You said that they helped you control your back pain, and you could not perform your job without them. This is a dangerous precedent, and I want to make an example out of you. Please note that the sentencing guidelines are, by definition, recommendations. As the judge, I can move beyond those guidelines when I believe it is appropriate. I hereby sentence you to ten years in Florida State prison. You will be fined seventy thousand dollars plus court costs. Finally, you must attend drug treatment while incarcerated.”
“Ten years!” yelled John. “I’m not Pablo Escobar. I’m not some drug kingpin. I’m a doctor.”
“Order in the court! Order in the court!” demanded the judge.
The veins on John’s neck started to bulge. He threw over his chair in rage and stormed toward the judge.
“This is nuts!” John screamed. “I might as well have killed somebody.”
“Bailiffs, arrest this man!” yelled the judge.
Three overweight bailiffs ran over and tackled John to the ground.
“Get off me!” John yelled. “This is ridiculous, Your Honor! I am a cardiologist, not some drug trafficker. You’ve ruined my life, you scumbag!” he screamed as the officer sat on him and placed handcuffs around his wrists and ankles.
“I’ve heard enough. Remove him! I am finding you in contempt of court, and I will add another two months to your sentence.”
The bailiffs lifted John up and placed him on his feet. “You need to calm down,” barked one bailiff.
“Tim, get the waist shackles,” instructed another bailiff.
John felt another rush of energy and lunged for the judge. The three bailiffs threw him to the ground, as four more bailiffs rushed in through the doors of the courtroom.
“Quit resisting!” yelled one bailiff.
“We will tase you!” said another.
“Grab his legs, and we’ll pick him up by his arms,” instructed the head bailiff. “Calm down, John. Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
John yelled as the bailiffs escorted him out of the court room and over to the county jail, which was connected to the courthouse.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, court is adjourned,” said Judge Decker.
“All rise,” instructed the bailiff.
As the judge went back into his chambers, Alfredo approached Franco Ruben, the Assistant State Attorney.
“What the heck, Franco? We had a deal. The judge just gave my client an insane sentence. He didn’t kill or rape anyone.”
“I honestly have no idea what just happened.”
“This is nuts. Is this justice? The entire point of a plea bargain is that you’re accepting guilt and trying to get a better deal. Did you miss that day at law school? I don’t know if they taught you that at clown college.”
“Don’t knock clown college,” said the prosecutor with a smirk. “You know statistically it’s harder to get into than Harvard.”
“Miami is full of criminals, and we just sent an Ivy League-educated cardiologist behind bars for a decade. Our criminal justice system is a nightmare.” Alfredo glanced toward the judge’s door. “I’m going to appeal this sentence. This is cruel and unusual punishment. Has the judge ever heard of the eighth amendment?”
“I understand your frustration, Alfredo, I really do. But I didn’t make this decision. Off the record, I would’ve been happy with zero jail time and probation. It would’ve been another win for me, as I can record another guilty plea. The new state attorney is hammering us that we need to get our conviction rates up.”
“I’m going to go to the media,” Alfredo said. “I will make this a national news story.”
“Go ahead, but you know just as well as I do that there are thousands of these stories in the criminal justice system. You ever hear of the guy who was sentenced to life for stealing a piece of pizza? You can thank Bill Clinton and the 1994 Crime Bill for that one. Three-Strikes and you’re out. People aren’t going to be outraged by your wealthy doctor who popped pills every week.”
“And you wonder why people hate the criminal justice system. Don’t worry Franco, you can chalk this up as a win for you. In a few years you’ll be out of this terrible job and can become a judge. Enjoy presiding over traffic court. There are plenty of constitutional issues that arise when dealing with parking tickets.”
“The heck with you,” said Franco.
“I’m sorry man, but I’m so angry! John is a great guy, and I don’t understand what just happened.”
The assistant state attorney turned to Alfredo and patted him on the back. “Good luck, man. Let me know how it turns out.”
2
“Inmate, have you calmed down? Can we take you out of the restraint chair?” asked the corrections officer at the Miami Dade County jail.
The jail was a dump, as it was falling apart. It was a “first generation” jail, which means that the gates to the cells close and the thirty inmates behind bars try not to kill each other while piled upon one another in the cell. The correction officers wished the inmates the best of luck, but they were not going into the cell to break up every fight. In fact, it would be impossible, as inmates fought all day. Gang leaders, drug dealers, and hardened criminals battled to see who was the toughest. Every week, someone got stabbed.
This world was a far cry from the hospital halls that John was accustomed to. This was a world of predators and prey.
“Inmate, did you hear me? Have you calmed down yet?”
“Yes ma’am,” said John, who was handcuffed to a restraint chair and hooded with a spit-mask to protect the officers. “I won’t resist or cause any trouble.”
Female corrections officers accounted for fifty-two percent of the Miami Dade County Department of Corrections staff. The officers were tough as nails and did not tolerate any nonsense. They had to be tough in the jail system, as it housed some of the most dangerous criminals in the United States.
“That’s what I want to hear,” the officer said. “We’re going to get you out of the chair and take off your mask. Don’t try anything stupid. Otherwise, we’re going to mess you up, son. I have some officers in here who would love nothing more than to beat up a fancy drug addict doctor.”
“Yes, officer. I understand.” John looked down at his lap. “I’m sorry, but the sentencing was very traumatic for me.”
“Well don’t make us traumatize you more by beating you to a pulp. You’re now property of the State of Florida. We’re your mommy and your daddy. And we aren’t afraid to slap you. Don’t ever forget that,” said the officer, who was strong like a football player.
The officer uncuffed John and said, “Get up slowly and follow me to the holding cell next door.”
John stood up and did what the officer instructed. “How long will I be in the holding cell?”
“We need to process you and place you on a floor. It’ll be a couple of hours.”
Nothing in the Miami Dade County jail system happened quickly. The jail processed as many as five hundred inmates a day.
John entered the holding cell, often referred to as the drunk tank, as it would fill to the brim with tourist and residents who had one too many drinks at the nightclubs on South Beach. This cell had fifty people in it. There was no place to sit on the benches, so John stood in the corner.
One man was about fifteen minutes into a conversation with a wall. The jail system had become filled to the brim with the mentally ill. Miami Dade County continued to slash the budget for mental health services, and officers would arrest some individuals hundreds of times. Some of these inmates belonged in a mental hospital. Instead, the system had failed them and criminalized mental illness.
“Hey pretty boy, I hope you’re my cell mate,” a six feet-four-inch tough-looking inmate said to John.
John stared at the ground and did not respond.
“Hey. I’m talking to you, pretty boy!” screamed the inmate.
“I don’t want any trouble,” responded John.
The inmate got up from the bench and approached John. “What did you say to me?”
“I don’t want any trouble.”
The other inmates sat as though nothing was happening. The prison code was that inmates don’t get involved in other people’s problems.
“Oh, you don’t want any trouble. I see. Me neither. Let me go sit back down,” said the inmate as he turned around and started to walk away. He stopped, pivoted, and began to punch John as hard as he could.
Lucky for John, the officers monitored the drunk tank more carefully than the cells on the main floors of the jail.
“Knock it off!” yelled one officer.
The inmate punched John repeatedly, while the other people in the cell cheered him on.
“Knock it off. Don’t make us come in there,” yelled an officer.
Four officers came running in and tackled the larger inmate. They removed him from the cell and took John to the prison infirmary.
“Sit down on the table,” said the prison nurse. She had a calming voice. “It looks like he’s going to need stiches. He has a large gash on his eyebrow. Doctor, we need you now.”
The doctor walked into the room. He never thought that he would be working in a prison, but the pay was great and lured him in. Few people wanted to work in one of the most violent jail systems in the country. To incentivize people to stay, the corrections system provided the doctors not only with a great salary but with top-notch benefits.
“I’m Doctor Ruiz. Let me look? What happened?”
“Another inmate beat me to a pulp for no reason.”
“Is it your first day here?” asked the doctor.
“Yes, sir. I was just sentenced,” responded John.
The doctor gave John ten stiches, and the corrections officers moved him to the special management unit, a fancy name for solitary confinement. The prison put high profile and problematic inmates in the special management unit as well as a small percentage of people who asked for protective custody for their own safety.
“Inmate, you’re going to spend a few days here. We’re going to move you to the fifth floor,” said the officer.
“How long before I’m sent to state prison?” asked John. “When will I know where I’m going?”
“I just looked up your case. You’re still waiting assignment. I imagine that it will be around a week or two. They must classify you and determine where to send you. My guess is a medium security prison, based on your charges.”
“I could be shipped out to anywhere in Florida?”
“Correct. You’re ours now, son. This isn’t the Holiday Inn.” The officer started to feel sorry for John and said, “Stay strong, man. You’ll be out of this dump soon. Inmates here are predators. They smell fresh blood like a shark swimming in the ocean. Try to keep to yourself, but don’t look vulnerable. This jail houses murderers, rapists, drug dealers, you name it. We have one guy who’s been waiting for trial for ten years.”
“Thanks, officer.” John touched his eyebrow and winced. “I appreciate your advice. As you can tell, I’m new to the criminal justice system. Quite the learning experience.”
“Grab your stuff,” instructed the officer.
John grabbed his bedsheets and the prison basics, toothpaste, and a change in uniform. “Does the fifth floor have cells with two or three inmates?”
“No sir. The cell doors close, and there are around twenty-five or thirty inmates. This floor is better than the other ones. The seventh is the worst. The people on that floor fight all day and are totally nuts.”
“What if this happens again? Is there anything that I can do?” I hope I can make it out alive. This place is a madhouse.
The officer shrugged. “You can scream. Bang on the doors. This jail system is a dump. There is not much we can do. We’re underpaid and outnumbered.”
John and the guard continued walking down the corridor. The inmates banged on the cell doors and yelled.
“Welcome to your worst nightmare!”
“Fresh meat, boys!”
The corrections officer escorted John to the end of the hall. John was six feet tall and had a hundred and eighty pounds of muscle. He could protect himself on the street. Jail, however, had predators who spent all day fighting.
“Here you go inmate. Welcome to your new suite at the Holiday Inn. Guard, open cell seven.”
The heavy metal gates opened. The officer passed through the first gate with John and pulled out a large key hanging on his belt. He inserted the key and opened the heavy door. “Good luck, John,” said the officer.
John entered the cell and looked around.
“What’s up, man?” asked one inmate.
“Do you mind if I take the bottom bunk in the corner?” asked John.
“The bottom bunk is for players. I don’t think you fit that profile,” said another inmate. “I run the cell. If you want a top bunk, you need to fight me.”
“I’m okay with sleeping on the bottom bunk.”
“Either way, you’re gonna have to fight.”
“I don’t want any trouble,” responded John.
“Rule number one: You have to fight to enter this cell and have the right to sleep here.”
“Why?”
“Those are the rules, son. I didn’t make them. If you don’t fight well, you need to get your stuff and leave.”
“Leave?”
“Get your stuff and move to another cell.”
Four tough-looking inmates approached John. One inmate started to rub his hands and lick his lips.
“Tighten up,” said one inmate.
“Excuse me?” asked John.
“We’re going to see what you’re made of,” said another inmate.
The four inmates started to circle John. He began to sweat profusely.
One inmate pushed John, and the three others started to punch him. Two inmates landed punches to his gut, and the other hit him right in the eye.
“Leave me alone, you animals!” screamed John. He cocked his fist back and landed a punch. The other three inmates started to kick John. He bent down, and another inmate hit him in the stomach. Blood dripped from his mouth.
“You aren’t tough enough for this cell,” said one inmate.
John could not breathe. His legs began to buckle. One of the inmates kicked him in the jaw, causing John to fall over.
“Get your stuff, son. You aren’t a real gangster. You can’t stay here. Put your stuff by the cell door.”
An inmate walked over and grabbed the bag with John’s other clean uniform and sheets and threw it at the door. John lay on the ground, blood pouring down his face. He struggled to breathe.
“Guard! This inmate isn’t welcome here,” yelled the cell leader.
Two corrections officers walking down the hall saw John on the ground.
“Inmates, get back to your bunks,” yelled one officer.
The officers opened the door, peeled John off the ground, and escorted him to the
infirmary.
“Inmate John had another introduction to the kind folks who reside in our hotel,” one correction officer said, laughing.
A prison nurse came over and helped John onto the stretcher.
“We hate to see you in here again,” said the nurse.
The doctor came in and asked, “My goodness. Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere,” replied John, wincing. “I can’t breathe. My ribs are killing me.”
“I’m going to order an X-ray. You may have some broken ribs. Nurse, can you get me some sutures? I need to stich up his eyebrow again.”
The doctors discovered that he had two broken ribs. He stayed in the infirmary for three days.
3
“Wake up. It’s time to roll,” barked one correction officer. “You have an all-expenses paid trip to state prison.”
John was snoring in his cell. The guards had placed him in protective custody after he broke his ribs.
“Inmate! Wake up. I don’t have all day.”
“What time is it?” asked John.
“3 a.m. Time to roll. Rise and shine, kid.”
“Where am I going?”
“The bus is leaving in ten minutes. Roll up your sheets and leave the rest.”
John yawned and rubbed his eyes.
“Cell seven,” yelled the officer. The corrections officers in the control center opened the cell doors.
“Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go! Get up. Your limo is outside waiting for you,” said the officer.
“Why do they transfer us at 3 in the morning? This is ridiculous,” said John in a sleepy voice.
The prison system didn’t care about the inmate’s schedule or interrupting their beauty sleep. The prison authorities liked keeping the inmates in the dark and on their feet. Prison officials felt that the less information that the inmates had, the better. It made it harder for the inmates to organize. Prisoners were denied their freedom, but they had one thing in their favor: time. The endless amount of time at their disposal could lead to coordination between different prisons and street gangs flooding the already overcrowded prison system.
The officer escorted John to the door. The bus was waiting to transfer John and thirty other inmates to Homestead Correctional Facility, which was nicknamed ‘The Jungle’ by the inmates housed there.
“Move your hands, inmate,” an officer instructed.
“Sorry, I’m still half asleep,” said John as he yawned.
“It’s time for your pretty belt,” said the officer. “We always transport inmates leaving our facility with shackles around their waists and feet. These are the rules. Get used to it.”
“Good to know,” John said. He hadn’t made a joke or laughed in weeks. The Miami Dade jail experience had been traumatizing for him. Not only had he been assaulted on multiple occasions, but depression and anxiety made it nearly impossible for him to sleep. He also lost fifteen pounds.
“Move, inmates!” shouted an officer. “Time to ship out.”
“Get on the bus. Sit down and shut up. We don’t want to hear a word out of any of you,” instructed another officer.
The inmates piled on to the bus, which looked like a school bus, but with tinted windows and bars. One of the officers closed a thick gate separating the inmates from the correction officers.
“We don’t want you to cause us any trouble. If you do, my main man Officer Mike here will stop the bus, and I personally with throw you off it,” said one officer.
The bus had one or two high-profile inmates sentenced for drug crimes, so the department of corrections decided to have two police escorts to prevent any potential security breaches.
“You ready, Sheriff Rivera? We’ll follow you. Please take the scenic route along 836,” said Captain Stan, a veteran officer who had thirty years in the Miami Dade Corrections system and could not wait to retire next month.
“Roger that, captain. I’m going to light it up and give you boys an escort. Officer Cruz, are you ready? Let’s roll,” responded Rivera.
The two sheriffs jumped into the cruisers and turned on their lights and sirens. The bus pulled out of the main jail in downtown Miami and headed toward Florida State Road 836, known as the Dolphin Expressway, one of Miami’s busiest highways.
“Captain Stan, how do you like this view? What a beautiful day,” said Sheriff Rivera over the radio.
“Ten-Four, Sheriff. Thanks for giving us an escort. I’m certainly going to miss you when I retire next month. I’ll be thinking of you while I’m lying on the beach at Key Biscayne,” responded Captain Stan.
“We’re going to miss you, Captain. The best captain in all of Miami Dade Corrections,” responded Rivera.
“Don’t make his ego any bigger than it already is,” Officer Mike said over the radio.
“Hey, don’t pick on my main man,” he responded.
One of the inmates shouted, “Captain, can you let me stop off to see my old lady? She lives close by.”
“Maybe next time. For now, stay seated and shut the heck up,” responded Captain Stan.
4
Two years prior to his prison sentence, John had had a dramatically different life.
The phone rang as John slept in his bed.
“Dr. Brown, I’m sorry to wake you up. There’s a fifty-year-old man having a heart attack. He’s in the ambulance, twenty minutes out from Jackson Memorial.”
“I’ll be right there. Please have the Cath Lab technicians make sure everything is ready to go.”
“Thank you, doctor. I’m sorry to get you out of bed at this hour.”
“No problem. It’s my job. No need to apologize.”
John hopped out of bed, put on his scrubs, and grabbed his white coat.
“Shoot, I need to brush my teeth,”John said to himself.He still wasn’t great at getting out of bed in the middle of the night. Maybe he should’ve been a dermatologist. Nobody needed an emergency pimple popped at 3 a.m.
John pressed the elevator in his Brickell apartment, and the door opened on the twentieth floor. There was a young couple making out in the elevator. They stopped when they noticed John and started to giggle.
“Sorry,” said the guy in the elevator.
“No need to apologize. Hope you’re enjoying your Saturday night in the magic city of Miami. The elevator is going down, right?”
“Yes, sir. We’re going for a late-night swim. I’m sweating like a pig and need to cool off.”
“Isn’t the pool closed?”
“Yes. Don’t tell anyone,” he said, chuckling. “Are you off to work at this hour?”
“Unfortunately,” replied John.
“What kind of doctor are you?”
“A cardiologist. A patient had a heart attack, and I was called into work.”
“That’s awesome. You’re saving people’s lives. I’m a personal injury lawyer and spend my day representing people who want to sue their own families for money.”
The doors of the elevator opened to the fourth floor.
“This is us. Good luck, doctor. Keep saving lives. That’s just so cool.”
“Thanks, man. I’m doing my best. Take care.”
John got into his ten-year-old Toyota Camry in the parking lot. He still had medical school loans to pay off, and he did not feel the need to invest more money driving some fancy car to impress people in Miami. John was a simple guy and did not care.
He pulled out of his building in Brickell and drove past Mary Brickell Village, which had lines of people waiting to get into several popular nightclubs and local bars. While Miami was a city where people could have fun in the sun and party all night, John had sacrificed so much to become a cardiologist. He grew up on the Lower East Side of Manhattan with working class parents who instilled in him the values of hard work and dedication. John attended Columbia University, where he double majored in biology and chemistry. He went to medical school at Mt. Sinai. On match day, he found out he’d been accepted into the University of Miami’s cardiology program. He completed three years of internal medicine residency followed by a cardiology fellowship for another three years.
John considered going back to New York, but he received a great job offer in a successful private practice that had fifteen cardiologists working out of offices in downtown Miami and Miami Beach. The doctors rotated through three different hospitals, including Jackson Memorial.
John pulled into the parking lot. He started to jog to the entrance and made his way up to the Cardiac Catheterization Lab, known as the Cath Lab.
“Doc Brown. How’s it going, sir? Good to see you,” said Ryan, one of the Cath Lab techs.
“Nice to see you too, Ryan. How’s the Cath lab crew? We’re all set. The patient is being wheeled up as we speak.”
The elevator doors opened, and the paramedics wheeled in Mr. Jones on the stretcher.
Ryan and two other Cath Lab techs brought in Mr. Jones to the Cath Lab.
“Mr. Jones, I’m Dr. John Brown. Can you please tell me what happened?”
“I’m having severe chest pains. It feels like an elephant, or maybe my ex-wife, is sitting on my chest,” he said with a large smile.
John smiled and said, “We’re going to do a Cardiac catheterization to get a better look at your heart. If you have arteries blocked, I can go in and open them up with a stent. This is known as an angioplasty. I can use a little balloon to widen arteries that are obstructed.”
“Thanks, Doctor.”
Ryan and the Cath Lab team moved the patient onto the table.
“You may feel a little warm. It might feel like you’re urinating,” said John.
“Yes, Doc.”
“There are two obstructed arteries. I’m going to put in a stent.”
“Yeah, look at that,” said Ryan. “Huge blockage.”
“Doctor, which type of stent do you want? You want a Drug Eluting stent?”
“Let’s go with the Drug Eluting Stent,” responded John.
“Roger that, Doc.”
John spent the next hour and a half saving Mr. Jones’s life.
“Mr. Jones, you’re all set. We put in two stents to reduce the blockage. My colleagues are going to take you down to the cardiac recovery room. You will be here overnight, and I will check on you tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Doctor. You saved my life.”
“That’s what I’m here for, Mr. Jones. Did you come here with any family members? I can go and speak to them.”
“My daughter. She’s in the waiting room,” responded Mr. Jones.
“Take care now,” said John.
John gave Ryan a fist bump as John left the area to go meet with Mr. Jones’s daughter.
“Thanks for your hard work, brother. Great job,” said John.
“You got it, Doc. Let’s get together soon to watch the Giants play. Us New Yorkers have to stick together.”
“Sounds great. Call me soon, brother.”
Ryan and the other Cath techs loved John. He was down to earth and treated everyone with respect. Some doctors had giant egos and did not always treat the staff nicely. John appreciated every Cath Tech and their dedication to the patients.
John walked down the hall and into the waiting room.
“Hello, Doctor. How’s it going?” said Martin, one of the hospital janitors who worked the graveyard shift.
“Martin! How are you, my main man? Is your wife feeling better?”
“She is. You’re the best, Doc. I can’t thank you enough for seeing her on such short notice.”
“My pleasure. I’m here to help in any way I can. Please have your wife call my office if she needs anything or has any questions. She should make a full recovery.”
“Bless you, Doc. You’re the best.”
John walked into the waiting room and said, “Hello, are you Mr. Jones’s daughter? I’m his doctor.”
“Yes, Doctor. How did everything go?
“Everything went great. He had two blocked arteries. I was able to use a technique where we basically blow up a balloon in the obstructed artery. He’ll have some slight pain and should take it easy over the next couple days. I’m going to send him to a cardiac rehabilitation center.”
“Thanks so much, Doctor.”
“We used a stent to fix this. Luckily, he didn’t have any more blockage,” said John, as he rubbed his hands together. “If there are too many blockages, patients sometimes need more stents, which we jokingly call a full metal jacket. The other option is bypass surgery with a cardiothoracic surgeon.”
“It is good to know he doesn’t need surgery.”
“He should do just fine and make a full recovery. I will see him tomorrow and then for routine visits in my office,” said John. “Do you have any other questions?”
“No, Doctor. Thank you so much.”
“Excellent. We’ll take good care of your dad here.”
John left the waiting room and headed down the hospital hall. I’m so tired. I need to get some rest, he thought to himself. He looked at the clock on the hospital wall. 5 a.m.
John headed for the parking lot and passed one of the Cath Techs.
“Great work in there, Doctor,” said the Cath Tech.
“Thanks. Great team effort.”
“Can you at least get some rest?”
“Yeah, I’m going to run home to sleep for a couple hours before I have to see patients.”
“On call is rough,” said the tech.
“Indeed! I’m off to bed before I have to start work again,” said John.
“Take care, Doc.”
5
John had been working hard as a cardiologist. While he loved living in Miami, he sometimes wished he had more time to enjoy the city. John did not have much time for a social life, but he made sure that he stayed healthy. He enjoyed exercising to relieve stress and worked out every day. On the weekends John would exercise on Key Biscayne and take a dip in the water after his long run.
After being on call one Saturday, John decided to grab a drink with a few former residents.
“John, are we still on for 9 at Mary Brickell Village?” asked Brian, one of his colleagues.
“Sounds great to me. Is Blake going to be able to make it?”
“He’ll be there.”
“I’m looking forward to it. Only one drink though, as I’ve got to get to bed early. I’m on call on Sunday.”
After meeting his former colleagues for a drink, John walked home to his apartment, which was only ten minutes from the bar.
He began to cross the street. The driver was texting. The car struck John in the back.
“My back!” screamed John as he fell to the ground.
The driver got out of the car. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry.”
John winced. “Did you see me walking? I had the right of way. Don’t text and drive and roll through stop signs.”
“I’m so sorry. I was looking at my phone.”
“Was your text message that important? Let this be a lesson,” screamed John.
A police officer pulled up to help and called an ambulance. The officer wrote a ticket for reckless driving and gave the driver a stern warning.
“Sir, are you okay?” asked one paramedic.
“I think I’m okay, but my back is killing me.”
“We’re going to take you to the hospital.”
“I’m actually a physician there. My name is Dr. John Brown.”
The ambulance approached the emergency room at Jackson Memorial Hospital.
The paramedics rolled John to the third floor.
The on-call emergency room doctor came in.
“The patient has been hit by a car and is complaining of back pain,” responded the paramedic.
“John. Are you okay? What happened?” said the ER doctor.
Even though Jackson Memorial was a large hospital, John knew Dr. Tom Boyd as they had shared many patients. While they were not close friends, they had a good professional relationship.
“Doc, how are you? I’m in a lot of pain. I was hit by a car walking home,” said John.
“We’re going to check your vitals and take an X-ray of your back. We also want to do an MRI.”
Two hours later John learned that he did not have any broken bones, but he had a herniated disk.
“John, you should make a full recovery. On a scale of one to ten, how much pain are you in?”
“An eight.”
“I’m going to give you three Percocet pills for the pain. You should follow up with a pain management doctor.”
Little did John know this would be the start of his decline.
6
“John Brown,” said the nurse.
John got up from the waiting room and followed the woman into the doctor’s office.
“How are you feeling today?” asked the nurse.
“I’m not going to lie, it’s been really tough.”
“I’m going to take your vitals and then the doctor will be in to see you,” said the nurse.
John’s primary care physician recommended that he see Dr. Marten Williams. John did not know it at the time, but Dr. Williams would later lose his medical license and be sentenced to federal prison for running a pill-mill in Miami-Dade County. An investigation by the Drug Enforcement Administration found that Dr. Williams prescribed ten times the recommended amount to his patients. He also failed to disclose that he was an advisor to three pharmaceutical companies and received bonuses based on his “performance” numbers.
Dr. Williams entered the room and said, “John, how are you? I’m Dr. Williams. I’ve seen your name around the hospital, but we’ve never met.”
“Nice to meet you, Doctor. Thanks for seeing me on such short notice. Sometimes I’m in a great deal of pain. I’ve been having a hard time standing up for long periods of time. It makes doing my job tough, as I’m walking around the hospital all day.”
“I’m here to help you manage the pain. How bad is it?” asked the doctor.
“It’s bad. My back tightens up, and I can’t move,” said John, wincing.
“How often does this happen?”
“At least three times a day.”
“I’m going to give you Oxycodone for the pain. We’re going to manage your dosage to make sure that it helps reduce your pain and enables you to do your job.”
“What dosage level? Is there any risk that I could become dependent on this drug? I have read some of the academic literature and had a few patients who became hooked after surgeries.”
“You’re in pain, John. This drug is safe. Do you have a history of addiction?”
“No, I don’t. I rarely ever drink, and I don’t use drugs.”
The doctor reached into a cabinet and pulled out boxes of samples with a pamphlet. “Take a look at some of the literature. It discusses the potential risks. As you’ll see, they’re very minimal. This drug has been put through the ringer. There have been many clinical trials.”
“I’ll take a look,” said John.
“We’ll manage your pain, John. If you need a lower dosage, we can reduce it. I want to see you back here in two weeks.”
“One last question, Doctor: can I do my job while using these pills?”
“Take them at night. It should help you. If needed, you can take one during the day. It shouldn’t interfere with your job performance.”
“Thanks, Doc. I just want to make sure. You know better than anybody, but my job requires me to make life and death decisions. I want to be sure that I’m not hazy or off my game.”
“This drug will help you reduce your pain and enable you to keep working. You don’t want to go on disability and be out of the game for months.”
“Thanks, Doc. My primary care doctor gave me a referral for physical therapy. I hope it helps decrease my back pain and increase my mobility.”
John left the office and went back to the hospital for rounds. He was finishing up seeing several patients when he received a page over the loudspeaker.
“Paging Dr. John Brown. Paging Dr. Brown. Please call 4344.”
John picked up the phone and said, “Dr. Brown here. What’s going on?”
“We have a sixty-year-old man who had a heart attack. He should be here in fifteen minutes. He’s your patient. We’ve paged the Cath Lab technicians.”
“I’ll head up to the Cath Lab very shortly.”
John started to walk and his back began to spasm. Why is this happening to me? I’m young, John thought to himself. He went into the bathroom and popped a few pills. The pills worked and enabled him to do his job. John managed to save the patient’s life while controlling his pain.
