Chapter 9: What Followed
Andrew was formally charged on a Thursday.
His name appeared in the news that afternoon.
I read the first paragraph — *prominent New York surgeon faces multiple criminal charges following investigation triggered by Carter Foundation gala* — and set my phone face-down on my desk.
I didn't read the rest.
I didn't need to.
Grace called at four.
"His attorney entered a not-guilty plea, which is standard.
The trial date is eight months out.
Claire and Patricia will both testify.
The DA's office has also located a fourth woman — someone from Andrew's residency, twelve years ago.
She'd filed a complaint that was buried by the hospital administration at the time." A pause.
"The record goes back further than we thought."
"Donna Reyes," I said.
"No.
Someone else.
Donna may still come forward — her attorney has been in contact." Grace's voice was careful.
"Andrew is going to fight this.
He has resources and he has allies.
I want you to be ready for the next eight months to be difficult."
"I know."
"You have resources too," she said.
"And you have allies."
After I hung up, I sat at my desk for a while.
The office was quiet.
Ethan was in a late meeting.
The city moved outside the window, indifferent and continuous, the way it always did.
My engagement ring was in a padded envelope on my kitchen counter at home.
I had mailed it to Andrew's address three days after the gala, with no note inside.
He had received it.
He had not called — his attorney had advised him, presumably, to maintain distance.
I was glad.
There was nothing left to say.
Patricia Wells came to New York the following week.
I met her for coffee near the Carter Tower lobby — her idea, her territory, her terms, and I respected that.
She was a small woman with careful eyes and a way of speaking that suggested she had rehearsed every sentence before saying it, the habit of someone who had learned that words had consequences.
We talked for two hours.
At the end, she said: "I almost didn't come forward.
Even after Marcus called.
I thought — what if it doesn't matter?
What if he finds a way out of it anyway?"
"He might," I said.
"I can't promise he won't."
"I know." She wrapped both hands around her cup.
"But I thought about the next woman.
The one after me.
The one after you." She looked up.
"I couldn't be the reason she had no one."
I had said something very close to those words myself, in a hotel suite at one in the morning.
"You're not alone," I said.
She nodded.
Her eyes went bright for a moment, and she blinked it back.
"How are you doing?" she asked.
"Really."
I thought about it honestly.
"Some days are hard," I said.
"I keep catching myself doing things out of habit — checking whether I'm home before a certain time, choosing what to wear based on what won't draw attention.
It takes a while to unlearn." I paused.
"But I'm sleeping.
That's new."
She smiled — small, real, the kind that costs something.
"That's not nothing," she said.
"No," I agreed.
"It's not."
The trial was eight months away.
Andrew's allies were real and his resources were considerable and Grace had been right that the road ahead would be difficult.
I knew all of that.
But Claire had her voice back.
Patricia had come to New York.
Somewhere in Arizona, Donna Reyes's attorney was making calls.
And somewhere in the Carter Tower building above me, a man had asked me to dinner in a month, and I had said ask me again, and he had said a month, and I had believed him.
The ring was gone.
May you like
The weight I hadn't noticed I was carrying until it lifted.
I finished my coffee and walked back into the building.
