Gloria first met them when she was still working at Thomas Jefferson University Hospital, located within a stone’s throw from the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia. This was just over twelve years and three months ago. She’d had a fine, if unspectacular, nursing career spanning nearly twenty years, notable only for its lack of complaints against her. There were absolutely none. Zero. Which almost seemed impossible, and, in fact, was. There were a number of performance-related issues in her thick employment folder. Some were justified, like when she misread the dosage for a cardiac patient and accidentally put him into a coma for seventeen days. But most were somebody else’s fault. Gloria had proven herself ill adept at the political aspect of nursing, and often found herself the target of a colleague or superior seeking to lay the blame on somebody else. Basically, she was an innocent, and innocents often got chewed up and spat out.
Then, one day, all that changed.
That day began in a nondescript office building in Sandy Hook, New Jersey, where she and her then-seventeen-year-old son, Cornell, had been invited to a scholarship interview. They had applied for so many different scholarships that year neither could remember the specifics of this one. Gloria and Cornell only knew two things: it was sponsored by the Commonwealth Equal Opportunity Trust, whatever that was; and, more importantly, this was a full ride: tuition, room, and board. The whole enchilada. Money, money, money.
Cornell was certainly deserving of financial aid. He was a straight-A student with nearly perfect SATs who had been elected to represent New Jersey at Boys Nation, which Bill Clinton, among other political notables, had also attended while still in high school. Cornell’s involvement in politics at the national level made his student-body presidency seem trivial by comparison, but like any good politician, he made his fellow students at Parsippany Hills High School feel they were all that mattered to him.
As early as the eighth grade, Cornell knew he wanted to study political science at Georgetown. The kid didn’t lack for ambition. His mother dutifully explained how competitive it was to get into such a prestigious college. Her son answered matter-of-factly that he would just work harder than everyone else. She promised him that if he did indeed get accepted, she would somehow find a way to pay for it.
But certain promises are harder to keep than others. Cornell kept up his end of the bargain. The boy was a model citizen and one she was damn proud of. Any mother would be. Disappointing him would kill her. But affording an elite education as a single parent earning $68,000 a year seemed practically impossible. At that time, tuition at Georgetown was $36,140. Room and board were $11,478. There was no way she could make it work without help.
There was all kinds of scholarship money out there, but, for some reason, Cornell wasn’t qualifying for any of it. Apparently, the majority of the money was intended for those who earned less than thirty thousand a year. Those who earned above sixty were just plain out of luck. It almost seemed like she was being penalized for doing just well enough. The middle class was getting squeezed out of leadership-caliber educations, and Cornell was due to be the next victim.
Then the scholarship invitation from the Commonwealth Equal Opportunity Trust arrived. This was his best and last chance to afford the education he’d been dreaming of since middle school. Cornell wore his only suit, and did all he could to look his very best at the interview.
Gloria wished her son luck and squeezed him tight as he was ushered into a room by two well-dressed women. Gloria sat quietly in the waiting room, intending to busy herself with the array of magazines she had brought, when a man sat down next to her.
It was Bob Stenson, but he did not introduce himself to her. Gloria would never learn his name. “Hello.” His voice was pleasant and unassuming.
“Why, hello.” Gloria tried to be as charming as she could be. For all she knew, this conversation might have some impact on their decision. Little did she know how absolutely right she was.
Stenson removed a cellular phone from the breast pocket of his suit coat and held it in front of him. “May I ask if you’ve ever sent a text message from one of these things?” After all, this was 2005. The first iPhone wouldn’t come out until 2007.
She glanced at the phone, which looked like so many others. “Why, no, I haven’t, but my son has many times. Today, in fact.”
The man chuckled. “Of course he has.” He then turned to face her more directly. “Ms. Pruitt, what if I told you there was a way you could guarantee your son will receive our scholarship?”
Gloria looked at him inquisitively, certain that he would not be suggesting anything sexual to a woman of her age and abundant figure. “What would I have to do?”
“Come work for us.”
“Where would that be, exactly?”
“The physical location will vary from time to time, depending on which of our clients is in need of nursing care, but we would never ask you to commute more than a fifty-mile radius from your place of residence.”
It made Gloria uncomfortable that these people knew where she lived. It also made her wonder what else they knew about her. “I hate to ask this, but why me?”
“We’re what people consider old school. We require complete trust. And absolute confidentiality. While we will arrange your placements with our clients, you may not reveal your association with us—to them, or anyone else. Any breach of discretion on your part will result in immediate termination, both of your employment and Cornell’s scholarship.”
She looked Stenson directly in the eyes. “I would never betray your trust.”
“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if we thought you would.” He handed her a plain manila folder that contained a copy of every performance-related issue from her employment records. “Before we have these items expunged, we need to know if there is anything else we should be aware of.”
Flipping through the documents, her hands trembled. Gloria had trouble speaking. “These records are supposed to be confidential.”
Stenson studied her without expression. Within seconds, he would know how well he’d selected.
She turned back to the items from her file. “You know, most of these weren’t my fault.”
“We do know.” He said it like it should have been obvious.
While concerned, Gloria would later remember that she was also somewhat excited. “You can really have my record cleaned?”
He nodded without blinking. “As long as we know everything.”
She flipped through the documents once more, then handed them back. “This is all of it.” She would never learn that this man and his associates were the reason Cornell had not received any offers from the many scholarships he had applied for. Unbeknownst to Gloria, Cornell’s applications had all been withdrawn. The rejection letters she’d received certainly seemed legitimate. And what reason could she have possibly had to think that someone was forging the documents, forcing her to desperately need the one and only scholarship still available to her son?
She nodded. “So while I will technically be working for other people, I will actually be working for you.”
“In the strictest of confidence.” He glanced around the offices, which would be broken down later that day. Within twenty-four hours, there would be no sign he or his associates were ever there. Commonwealth Equal Opportunity Trust did not appear on the short-term lease, or on any other legal document or registry anywhere. For all intents and purposes, it did not exist.