Chapter 45 – Managing Up
"Looking forward to you starting soon!" Ethan said. "Though it's still a ways off."
"Yeah. But at least we're heading in the right direction," Mary replied.
Ethan nodded and promised, "Go get 'em! When you're back, I'll throw you a welcome-to-the-clinic party with the entire staff."
Mary tilted her head, amused. "The entire staff? Isn't that just you and me?"
"Think bigger," Ethan declared, brimming with confidence as he began painting grand plans for Employee No. 2:
"We're only at the starting line right now.
We'll save a few loaded patients, earn our first fortune, buy the unit next door, and turn it into a recovery center;
then sell annual memberships to every millionaire in Manhattan—one hundred million a year, only a hundred slots, treatment fees extra;
next we'll found the Rayne Medical Group. Politicians who want treatment give us tax breaks and real estate; tycoons donate buildings and cash;
finally we'll monopolize all healthcare—free cures for everyone. One year not enough? Two. Two not enough? Three. From cancer and HIV down to colds and paper cuts—we'll be everywhere;
and then we can begin… ahem… world peace."
"???!!!" Mary listened. The first sentence sounded reasonable; by the second it had veered into pure fantasy. She brushed it off:
"All right, I'll get my license first and make my tiny contribution to your world peace."
They shared a laugh, then lapsed into a few seconds of quiet.
When Mary looked up at Ethan again, something else flickered in her eyes.
"All right, contract signed—time for some operational suggestions." Mary began.
Ethan had just finished his grandiose pitch and was still riding high when he saw Mary straighten up, ready to start "managing upward."
"First, I recommend we open evening hours." Mary cut to the chase.
"I've checked nearby ER records and small-clinic schedules; after seven p.m. residents have no reliable, affordable option except the big-hospital emergency room.
If we don't open, patients queue for hours or tough it out till morning."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Evening shift? Mary, do you know why I don't? Because I don't want to be stuck here 24/7 with drunks, people who cut their fingers making dinner, and the convinced-they're-dying-but-actually-just-constipated crowd."
"Not twenty-four hours—just till ten. We'd help most people who really need urgent care but can't afford hospital bills."
Mary insisted, backing it with data: "Night-time ER cases are mostly mild-to-moderate trauma, infections, acute pain—exactly what our clinic can handle.
We don't need every day at first; Tuesdays and Thursdays till ten would be a solid pilot program."
Ethan stared, feeling she was the real boss—a workaholic one who piled extra shifts on him.
"Two nights a week? Do you know what that means? Sacrificing our precious evenings to a parade of trivial complaints! And what about the next morning?"
"Rotating shifts. Short-staffed for now, so you and I split nights; whoever works late comes in late the next morning." Mary answered calmly,
"and the contract is clear—once we launch evening shifts, all licensed staff, including you, Boss, participate in the rotation."
Ethan froze. "Wait, when was that clause slipped in? Why didn't you point it out?"
"I forgot to mention it earlier; I'm mentioning it now." Mary's tone was unruffled, as if discussing the weather.
Ethan opened his mouth, suddenly realizing: he'd signed a contract that mandated the new hire—and the boss—work overtime.
Is that even legal? Can an employment contract dictate clinic hours? He vowed to reread the thing later with a lawyer present.
Having finished the night-shift pitch, Mary paused, hesitation creeping into her voice.
"There's… something else I've always wondered about—some of the more… unusual cases you've handled."
Ethan kept his expression neutral. "Oh? Which cases?"
"Like the patient who took an abdominal slash, was sutured, and walked right out…" Mary left it hanging, eyes probing. "That level of recovery seems beyond conventional medicine.
Especially… what happened when I was stabbed…"
Ethan went silent for a few seconds, mind racing.
He chose a vague yet plausible line:
"Every doctor has proprietary techniques and… lesser-known treatments. Results vary, so I use them sparingly and keep quiet to avoid malpractice suits."
He met her gaze frankly. "You understand?"
"So those things really happened—because you did something?"
Ethan hesitated, then: "Yes."
Mary studied him, seemed to weigh something, then simply nodded.
"One last personal request." She inhaled. "Could we add a clause: full-time staff and their immediate family get medical coverage?
My grandmother's elderly, has chronic conditions needing long-term meds and follow-ups—some incurable. If possible, I'd like you to use your… unique methods. The cost can be deducted from my salary."
This time Ethan hardly hesitated. Offering health benefits is standard; many big companies cover dependents too.
If it came to using Holy Light, he'd bill normally and give the employee discount.
He nodded. "Fair enough."
"Thanks." Mary gave a sincere smile, then snapped back. "So, about evening shifts…"
Ethan rubbed his temples at her persistence.
A capable employee is great—until her ideas start requiring management.
"Fine, we can try evening hours—but only after you officially start," he said, kicking the can a full year down the road.
"Also, every off-the-books 'cosmetic enhancement' project—clinic or personal—stops. Now."
Mary blinked. "All of them? That's a lucrative income stream." She'd planned to take occasional side gigs even during residency.
"Lucrative and risky." Ethan's tone was final. "Anything under the table gets cut. We're a legitimate clinic, not a back-alley cosmetic surgery operation.
You want legitimacy; so do I. On that, we agree.
And during residency you'll earn a yearly stipend in the tens of thousands—enough for living expenses; if not, the clinic can advance you some."
"Agreed." Mary finally nodded. "I'll wrap everything up this week."
With everything settled, Mary slung her backpack and headed for the door, pausing to glance back at the sunlit clinic.
"Boss, hang in there. See you in a year."
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