“Don’t worry. I’ll do the whole ‘oh gee, that’s awful. Am I gonna die, doc?’ routine again. He’ll never know, I promise.” She leaned her head to the side, thinking. “Please, Karen. This is off the record. Just come sit down, talk to me like a person.”

Karen hovered at the door reluctantly for a moment, then crossed the room and sat on the foot of the bed. She leaned toward him. “I’m sorry, it doesn’t look good. Again, I’m not an oncologist and tests will need to be run. But it doesn’t look good.”

“Can it be treated?”

“When it’s caught early, sometimes.” She pointed to the bottle of antacid on the nightstand. “How long have you been taking those?”

Kettleman shrugged. “A year or so.”

“Ever see a doctor about it?”

He shrugged again. “I just thought it was reflux or whatever. My work is stressful.”

“Are you some kind of hitman?”

“For crying out loud, that’s what you thought? No, absolutely not. I swear, what happened when I was a kid had nothing to do with—”

“Is your name really Joseph Kettleman?”

He grew quiet. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

“So you are a criminal.”

“Has karma decided I deserve the death penalty?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, but yes. You have a very aggressive form of cancer, and the tumor is already quite advanced. I’m sorry.”

“How long do I have?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. The oncologist will—”

“A year or two?”

“Oh, no. Definitely not. I mean, I don’t think so anyway.”

“A few months? Weeks? Days?”

“Honestly, we’re way outside of my specialty here.”

“Karen, please.”

She sighed. “Three months, maybe six? The right treatment will probably add a few months. And there’s always clinical trials. You clearly have money, so you might…”

Kettleman sighed, closed his eyelids, and settled back on his pillow, fingers crossed behind his head. Without opening his eyes, he smiled warmly. “Thank you for being honest with me, Karen.”

The doctor stared. She wasn’t an oncologist, but as a trauma surgeon she been saddled with the unfortunate duty of delivering devastating news on countless occasions. Denial, anger, begging, pleading—those reactions she understood.