"Please wait here, mister Reed," said the assistant while she pointed at the seats on the waiting room. "The meeting will start very soon."
Gregorious Reed—whose signature could be read as G.Reed—was a tall man with an alarming overweight. He used a hugo ross suit and a gold ring in most of his fingers. His hair was gray and scarce, and his face was covered in wrinkles, age spots and a multiple chin. He breathed heavily.
Maybe Swindle Jones shouldn't use such a heavy and suffocating costume.
Anyway, G.Reed took a seat and looked around. There were several patients with bandages or casts on some part of their body, and others with diseases and ailments that couldn't be seen with the naked eye. Some prayed desperately or simply sank into their resigned thoughts.
From time to time a group of nurses would appear, quickly pushing a patient's gurney, and from time to time a doctor would appear, approaching a group of people and saying something listlessly to them; these people either would either shout with joy and hug each other or burst into tears and try to comfort each other. Whatever their reaction, the doctor would simply turn around and go back the way he had come.
"I'm not signing this," one young man with a document on his hands suddenly said.
"You have to," a woman next to him ordered. "It's for dad."
"This is bullshit!" the young man yelled. "Dad's dying, and they only think of covering their backs!"
"Maybe, but this hospital has the best doctors! And what else can we do?!"
The young man stared at the woman, and both of them shared a glance filled with wrath and impotence.
The young man reluctantly signed said document.
G.Reed felt very curious about it. However, because it would be quite strange for a random person to approach them and ask them about it, he approached one of the receptionists instead.
"Excuse me, what is that document that those over there signed?"
The receptionist looked at him both strangely and suspiciously.
G.Reed placed a $100 bill on the desk.
"What is that document that those over there signed?"
"That's a responsive," the receptionist said immediately after taking the ticket. "It states that the hospital is not responsible in case the surgery fails, because that's very likely to happen."
"What if they don't sign it?"
"Then we won't make the surgery."
"And if you don't make the surgery, what would happen to the patient?"
"He will die," the receptionist said bluntly.
G.Reed grinned and headed out of the waiting room.
After strolling for a while, he found himself in the oncology department.
He wandered the corridors and, after spending some time looking at all the patients on his way, found who he was looking for: Nui Sanz. She was in a wheelchair, and a nurse was taking her back to her room.
They both passed in front of G.Reed without even noticing his presence. G.Reed smiled since his informant was right: Nui Sanz had chosen that hospital for her treatment and, therefore, she was going to spend all the money she had earned in the lawsuit there.
G.Reed followed them.
The nurse got in a room and left Nui Sanz there.
"Excuse me," G.Reed intercepted the nurse when he got out, "what kind of treatment is she having?"
"Excuse me? That's confidential information," said the nurse dryly.
G.Reed gave him a $100 bill.
"Because of her condition, the only thing we can do is put her on chemotherapy to keep her cancer under control, do tests to monitor her condition, and give her some medication to relieve her symptoms."
"And how effective is that?" G.Reed asked.
The nurse shook his head.
G.Reed grinned, patted the nurse's back a couple times.
And went back to the waiting room.
"First of all, please welcome St. Ann's most recent inversionist, Gregorious Reed."
G.Reed stood up and thanked all the applauses.
The room was filled with people incredibly similar to G.Reed.
The applause soon ended, and G.Reed spoke:
"Gentlemen, I'm extremely thankful for being here. I got the opportunity to take a walk through this hospital. I have learned several things and confirmed many more, so I am sure that, with my help, this hospital will be one of the be—
"We appreciate your words," interrupted another investor, "but we honestly feel that the hospital is not making enough money, so we are looking for strategies to fix that."
G.Reed grinned.
"Oh, that's pretty simple: if the hospital wants to make more money, the only thing it has to do is to charge more for its services."