Dr. Kender looked like he was at the end of his rope. There was anger in his gaunt face, but more than that, there was a sheen of hopelessness. He said on a sigh, "My dad, you never met him, Erin. He's old school, tough as nails, determined to take care of himself. We've discussed going on the oral cancer drug, but he's heard too many horror stories about the side effects, and he can't afford it in any case. If he's forced to go on it, he'll probably sell his house, and he's already told me there's no way he'll let me help. I've wanted to choke him for his misplaced pride, even though I completely understand it."

He paused a moment. "I hate that he's suffering, and now this worrying about having to come up with twenty thousand dollars when the Culovort runs out. It's breaking his will. I don't want him to die like this." He looked down at his tasseled loafers, his shoulders bowed, like a man who's gone up against the giant and gotten smashed. Erin wanted to weep.

He said quietly, "Do you know that in the U.S., about one hundred and fifty thousand people are diagnosed with colon cancer every year? I've written letters, sent e-mails, made phone calls to my elected representatives, to the FDA, until all I wanted was to shoot myself. No one seems to care except for the oncologists, the patients, and their beleaguered families, and they're powerless. I don't really know why I'm here. I knew you'd understand, Erin, but what can you do? What can anyone do to force the drug company to start up Culovort to full production again?"

"What we need," Erin said, drumming her fingertips on the little banged-up desk she'd bought from Goodwill in her sophomore year at Boston College, "is to get hold of solid proof they know damned well what they're doing, and that they are profiting from it. Then the media will sit up and pay attention. They love drug company scandals, but they like them much more when they're presented on a nice big platter complete with fines of hundreds of million dollars."