Chapter 3: Four Minutes
Ethan picked up his phone from the table.
"Stay here," he said.
"Ethan—"
"Stay here, Ava."
He was already moving toward the door.
I caught his arm with both hands and he stopped, not pulling away, just waiting.
"If you go down there and do something in front of every senator and journalist in that room, he will destroy you," I said.
"He has lawyers.
He has allies.
He has fifteen years of goodwill and a wall full of awards.
You'll look like a man who lost his temper at his own gala."
Ethan looked down at my hands on his arm.
Then at my face.
"I'm not going to lose my temper."
"Then what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to give a speech."
He left.
The door clicked shut behind him.
I stood in the dressing room for ten seconds, then followed.
I took the side corridor to the back of the ballroom and found a position near the staff entrance, half behind a column, where I could see the stage without being seen from the main floor.
Andrew was already seated in the front row beside Senator Collins, one ankle crossed over his knee, completely at ease.
He had his public face on — the warm, slightly humble expression he wore whenever cameras were nearby.
I had watched him practice it in the mirror.
Ethan stepped onto the stage to applause that filled the room.
He adjusted the microphone.
Looked out at the crowd.
Smiled.
"Thank you all for being here tonight," he said.
"The Carter Foundation exists because of people in this room who believe that doing good and doing well are not opposites.
That generosity is not weakness.
That the most powerful thing a person can do is use what they have to protect someone who has nothing."
Applause again.
Andrew nodded along in the front row.
"Before we begin the formal program," Ethan continued, "I need to make one small change to tonight's schedule."
A murmur moved through the room.
The event coordinator near the stage touched her earpiece.
"The award presentation for Dr.
Andrew Vaughn has been postponed."
Andrew's ankle came off his knee.
"The Carter Foundation takes its endorsements seriously," Ethan said, his voice carrying the same calm it had in the dressing room.
"When new information comes to our attention regarding a nominee, we have an obligation to our donors, our beneficiaries, and to this city to pause and review.
That review is now underway."
The room had gone very quiet.
Andrew stood up.
Senator Collins put a hand on his arm.
Andrew shook it off.
"Ethan." His voice came from the floor, not the stage.
Loud enough for the nearest tables to hear.
"What exactly are you implying?"
Ethan looked at him directly for the first time.
"I'm not implying anything, Andrew.
I'm postponing an award.
Those are two very different things."
"This is my reputation you're playing with in front of—"
"Your reputation is not my responsibility." Ethan's voice didn't rise.
"The foundation's integrity is."
Andrew's jaw tightened.
He looked around the room — at the journalists, at the cameras, at the faces of people he had cultivated for years — and I watched him calculate.
He was good at calculating.
He sat back down.
But his hands were flat on his thighs, and he wasn't smiling anymore.
From my position near the column, I pressed my back against the wall and tried to breathe.
Ethan finished the introduction, handed the podium to the hospital's chief administrator, and stepped off the stage.
He didn't look toward the front row.
He walked directly to the side corridor.
He found me thirty seconds later.
"You didn't do anything," I said.
"I did exactly what needed to be done tonight."
"He's going to come for you."
"I know." He looked at me steadily.
"My security director is outside with a car.
I need you to go with him."
"I'm not leaving."
"Ava."
"He'll know something happened.
If I disappear from this event, he'll know it came from me, and tomorrow morning—"
"Tomorrow morning is handled." He reached into his jacket and produced a small card.
"This is Dr.
Patricia Hale.
She's a physician I trust completely.
She's expecting you tonight.
She will document everything."
I looked at the card in his hand.
"You had this ready," I said.
"I had it ready three weeks ago." His voice was quiet.
"I just didn't know how to give it to you without making things worse."
I took the card.
Andrew appeared at the end of the corridor.
He looked at Ethan.
Then at me.
Then at the card in my hand.
His expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes went very still — the way a room goes still just before a window breaks.
May you like
"Ava," he said pleasantly.
"There you are."
