Chapter 7: The Morning He Came
He arrived at six fifty-two a.m.
I knew he would come early.
Andrew was always early when he wanted to control a room before anyone else had settled into it.
I was already dressed.
Claire was in the sitting room with Ethan's attorney, a precise woman named Grace Holloway who had arrived at six-fifteen with two associates and a document case.
Claire had her hands wrapped around a coffee mug and was speaking in a low, steady voice.
She had been speaking for twenty minutes without stopping.
Ethan was at the door when the knock came.
He opened it himself.
Andrew stood in the corridor in a different suit than the night before — he had gone home, changed, prepared.
His expression was the one he used with difficult hospital administrators: patient, reasonable, faintly disappointed.
"Ethan," he said.
"I appreciate you letting Ava stay here last night.
She gets anxious at events.
I should have kept a closer eye on her." He looked past Ethan into the suite.
"I'll take her home now."
"She's not leaving," Ethan said.
Andrew's gaze came back to him.
"I'm sorry?"
"She's giving a statement this morning.
As are two other women.
I'd suggest you call your attorney."
The patient expression didn't move.
But something behind it did.
"I don't know what Ava has told you," Andrew said, "but she struggles sometimes.
Emotionally.
I've been worried about her for months.
Whatever she's said—"
"She said you put fingerprints on her arm," Ethan said.
"The bruises I saw last night said the same thing."
"That's a serious accusation."
"Yes.
It is."
Andrew's eyes moved past Ethan again, scanning the room.
He saw Grace Holloway.
He saw the document case.
He saw Claire Donovan, who looked up from her coffee and held his gaze without looking away.
Something shifted in his face.
The first real shift.
"I'd like to speak with Ava alone," he said.
"Five minutes."
"No," Ethan said.
"Ethan.
This is a private matter between—"
"There are no private matters left." Ethan stepped back from the door — not to let Andrew in, but to let me be seen.
I was standing near the window, and I didn't move toward Andrew and I didn't look away from him.
"Whatever you came here to say, you can say it in front of my attorney."
Andrew looked at me for a long moment.
"Ava." His voice dropped into the register he used when we were alone — soft, careful, the voice that came just before the other voice.
"Think about what you're doing.
Think about your job.
Your reputation.
Everything we've built."
"I have been thinking," I said.
"For fourteen months."
"You're making a mistake."
"Andrew." I kept my voice level.
"I know about Claire.
I know about Patricia.
I know about Donna Reyes."
The name landed.
His jaw tightened — just slightly, just for a second — but I had been watching his face for fourteen months and I caught it.
"And I know," I continued, "that the fabricated evidence you threatened me with doesn't exist.
Because Ethan's legal team spent last night looking for it and there's nothing there.
There was never anything there."
Andrew was silent.
"You picked women who had no one," I said.
"That was always the plan.
I had no one either, until last night." I looked at him steadily.
"You should call your attorney."
For a moment he didn't move.
Then he smiled — the last version of the smile, the one I'd never seen him use on anyone else, the one that had nothing warm in it at all.
"You think this is over?" he said quietly.
"You think one night in a hotel suite with a billionaire and a lawyer makes this over?
I have colleagues on the medical board.
I have friends in the DA's office.
I have—"
"Andrew." Grace Holloway's voice came from behind me, crisp and unhurried.
"My name is Grace Holloway.
I'm Mr.
Carter's attorney.
I want to make you aware that this conversation is being recorded with the consent of everyone present in this suite.
I also want to make you aware that the medical board received three formal statements at seven a.m.
this morning, and that the DA's office received a separate filing at six forty-five." She paused.
"If you'd like to continue speaking, I'd encourage you to do so with your own counsel present."
Andrew looked at Grace.
He looked at me.
He looked at Ethan.
Then he looked at Claire Donovan, who had stood up from the sofa and was watching him with eighteen months of something very quiet and very final in her eyes.
He left without another word.
The door closed behind him.
No one spoke for a moment.
Then Claire set her coffee mug down on the table, and her hand was shaking, and she pressed it flat against her leg to make it stop.
"Is it done?" she asked.
Not to anyone in particular.
May you like
"It's started," Grace said.
"Which is the part that matters."
