Free Harmful Intent by Robin Cook

“No one will be the wiser. It will take a day or two before that lien finds its way into their computers.”
    â€œDo you think you ought to do that?”
    â€œDo you have any other ideas of how I can raise $45,000 by tomorrow afternoon?” Jeffrey asked.
    â€œI guess not.”
    Jeffrey knew she had that kind of money in her investment portfolio, but he’d be damned if he’d ask her for it.
    â€œSee you at the bank,” Carol said as she got out in front of the garage where her car was parked.
    As Jeffrey drove north over the Tobin Bridge, exhaustion settled over him. It seemed that he had to make a conscious effort to breathe. He began to wonder why he was bothering with all this rigmarole. It wasn’t worth it. Especially now that he was sure to lose his medical license. Other than medicine, in fact other than anesthesia, he didn’t know much about anything. Except for a menial job like bagging at a grocery store, he couldn’t think of anything else he was qualified to do. He was a convicted, worthless forty-two-year-old, an unemployable middle-aged nothing.
    When Jeffrey arrived at the bank, he parked but didn’t getout of the car. He slumped forward and let his forehead rest on the steering wheel. Maybe he should just forget everything, go home, and sleep.
    When the passenger-side door opened, Jeffrey didn’t even bother to look up.
    â€œAre you all right?” Carol asked.
    â€œI’m a little depressed,” Jeffrey said.
    â€œWell, that’s understandable,” Carol said. “But before you get too immobile, let’s get this bank stuff out of the way.”
    â€œYou’re so understanding,” Jeffrey said irritably.
    â€œOne of us has to be practical,” Carol said. “And I don’t want to see you going to jail. If you don’t get that money in your checking account, that’s where you’ll end up.”
    â€œI have a terrible premonition that that’s where I’m going to end up no matter what I do.” With supreme effort, he got out of the car. He faced Carol over the roof of the car. “The one thing I find interesting,” he added, “is that I’m going to prison and you’re going to L.A., but I don’t know who’s worse off.”
    â€œVery funny,” Carol said, relieved that he was at least making a joke, even if she failed to find it amusing.
    Dudley Farnsworth was the manager of the Marblehead branch of Jeffrey’s bank. Years before, he’d happened to be the junior bank officer in the Boston branch of the bank that had handled Jeffrey’s first real estate purchase. Jeffrey had been a resident in anesthesia at the time. Fourteen years previously, Jeffrey had bought a Cambridge three-decker and Dudley had arranged the financing.
    Dudley saw them as soon as he could, taking them back to his private office and seating them in leather chairs facing his desk.
    â€œWhat can I do for you?” Dudley said pleasantly. He was Jeffrey’s age but looked older with his silver-white hair.
    â€œWe’d like to increase the mortgage on our house,” Jeffrey said.
    â€œI’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Dudley said. He went to a file drawer and pulled out a folder. “What kind of money are you looking for?”
    â€œForty-five thousand dollars,” Jeffrey said.
    Dudley sat down and opened the folder. “No problem,” he said, looking at the figures. “You could take even more if you wish.”
    â€œForty-five thousand will be enough,” Jeffrey said. “But I need it by tomorrow.”
    â€œOuch!” Dudley said. “That’s going to be tough.”
    â€œPerhaps you could arrange a home equity loan,” Carol suggested. “Then when the mortgage comes through, you can use that to pay off the loan.”
    Dudley nodded with eyebrows arched. “That’s an idea. But I tell you what, let’s go ahead