Michael ran a nervous hand across his forehead and gazed out at the placid expanse of the Hudson River.

Angela watched him and knew him well enough to recognize true anxiety. He did not like what he was hearing. He was upset a month ago when she'd come with her woes, and he was more upset now. Not only had he committed a lot of his client's money to Angels Healthcare, he'd committed a lot of his own, not to mention his working relationship with Morgan Stanley, who he'd convinced to be the underwriter for the IPO.

Michael looked back at Angela. He nervously licked his lips. "What kind of money are we talking about here?"

"My CFO says we'd be confident with two hundred thousand."

"Holy shit!" Michael exclaimed, leaping off his chair to pace his office. "Tell me you are joking," he said, suddenly stopping and staring at Angela with an expectant expression. "Tell me. You're highballing me as a psychological ploy."

"I'm telling you straight. This is too serious a situation to be joking or playing games."

"What the hell is your crackpot CFO doing with all the cash?"

"Michael, it is expensive to run three hospitals. You've seen our books. Salaries alone are enormous, and the costs don't stop just because the revenue does. The eye hospital and the heart hospital are producing some cash, but the ortho hospital is producing almost none. We've let a few people go, but we are limited unless we want to call attention to our cash-flow problem, which we don't. Many of us haven't taken any salary for months."

"I'm getting more than a bad feeling here. Yesterday, you call me about the problem with the accountant. Today you pop in, asking me to raise another two hundred grand! What's it going to be tomorrow?"

"Wait a minute!" Angela said. "You're the one who offered to help with the accountant when the issue arose a week ago. You said you had people who could convince him that filing the eight-K wasn't necessary."

Angela waited for a moment before continuing. "We only need the money for three weeks, tops. Angels Healthcare will then be swimming in cash, even taking into account the obscene amount we have to pay Morgan Stanley."

"Don't begrudge Morgan Stanley's take. They are the ones assuming the most risk here, and from what you are saying, it's even more than they think."

"Go back to your clients! Offer them whatever you need to. I tried the bank, and I pleaded with Rodger, but it's a no go."

"I can't go back to my client," Michael said, decisively suggesting that there was no room for discussion.

"'Client'? I thought it was clients?" Angela said. She was confused. He'd always said clients and used the word syndicate. She was certain.

"It's really one client," Michael said reluctantly.

"Why can't you go back to him? Surely he doesn't want to risk his generous payoff, with as much stock and options as he controls."

"That's what I said when I went back for the quarter of a million."

"Tell him again. I assume he's a smart man. Tell him exactly what I told you, that the ORs are open."

"He is a smart man, especially about money. If I go back to him at this point, he'll know we are desperate."

"We are desperate."

"Whether it is true or not, it is a bad negotiating position. He might demand to take controlling interest."

It was now Angela's turn to stare out the window at the river. The idea of losing control of her company was anathema after all her effort. Yet what other options did she have? For a brief moment, she thought about going back to the practice of medicine and giving up the entrepreneurial lifestyle. But the thought was short-lived. She was realistic enough to know that the freedom her current lifestyle afforded her, at least prior to the current cash-flow problem, had become addictive. She couldn't help but recall her disastrous experience with her primary-care practice and the realities of the current healthcare reimbursement, which was totally out of her control. Also, she reminded herself that if nothing else, she was persistent. She wasn't going to give up now that she was fifty yards from the finish line after a ten-mile race.

"Let me talk to your client directly," Angela said, breaking the silence. She had suddenly redirected her attention to Michael, who'd sat back in his chair. A few dots of perspiration had appeared along his hairline.

"Oh, yeah, sure!" Michael mocked, as if it was the most ridiculous suggestion she could possibly make.

"Why not? If he has any questions, he can ask them directly instead of through you. I can reassure him. With all the experience I've been having, I'm getting good at convincing investors."

"My client has made it abundantly clear he only wants to talk to me about investment issues."

"Oh, come on, Michael. I'm not going to steal your client. Don't be so paranoid."

"It's not me who is paranoid, it's him. Just so you understand the situation, there's several shell companies between him and his position in Angels Healthcare, as well as with several other pending deals."

"Why so much secrecy? Is there something here you're not telling me?"

"I'm only following his orders."

"Is he your major client in most of your placement deals?"

"Let's just say he's a big player. I can't be more specific."

Angela eyed her ex. This need for secrecy added to her general unease. Although she truly didn't know why it was apparent that Michael had no intention of enlightening her further. Instead of pressing him, she said, "Why don't you raise the money from someone else? Make it a sweet deal to one of your other clients."

"It's too short a time frame for that. There's no one I know whom I could approach."

"Then what about yourself? I've already maxed out all my equity."

"Me, too."

"What about your jet?"

"It's pledged to the hilt. Hell, it's been on one hundred percent charter as well."

Angela threw up her hands and stood. "Well, there's not much more I can say or do. I'm afraid all our fates are in your hands, Michael. You are our placement agent, for better or worse."

Michael breathed out noisily. "Maybe I can come up with fifty grand," he said reluctantly. After everything he'd all but promised people, if this IPO stalled, he knew he'd be in deep trouble, and not just financially.

"That's a start," Angela said. "I can't say it will guarantee success, but it will be much appreciated. What do you want as compensation?"

"Twelve percent as a loan, but convertible at my discretion to one hundred thousand dollars of preferred stock."

"Jesus Christ!" Angela murmured, then, in a normal voice, added, "I'll have Bob Frampton call you as soon as I get back to the office. When can we expect to have access to the cash?"

"In a day or so," Michael said distractedly. He was already trying to think of how he'd manage to cobble together the funds. He had not been joking when he told Angela he was maxed out, although he did have some gold futures he'd kept out of the mix for a disaster. He reasoned that this might be the disaster.

"I'll be at the office putting out fires if you have any bright ideas," Angela said as she got her coat and briefcase. She looked back at Michael before leaving. He'd gone back to staring out the window.

As she walked to the elevator, she vaguely thought that Michael was his own worst enemy. She also thought of the proverb that you can take the boy out of the country, or in this case his old neighborhood, but often you could not take the country out of the boy, especially since Michael had moved back to his old neighborhood after the divorce. To Angela, Michael's story smacked of a Greek tragedy. Michael was a smart, well-educated, handsome, and often charming individual who had the potential to be successful on many fronts, yet he had a tragic flaw: He was a prisoner of his past, when he had unknowingly absorbed indelible and ultimately harmful allegiances, attitudes, and values.