Chương 5
Margaret read it twice.
“Did you authorize this?”
“No.”
“Then call the clinic in the morning.”
“I was planning to.”
“Call your lawyer too.”
“I was planning to.”
Margaret almost smiled.
Then the smile disappeared.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“Do not go home tonight.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because Ethan is going to be angry.”
“He’s always angry.”
“No.” Margaret’s voice lowered. “You have seen Ethan irritated. Defensive. Controlling. You have not seen him believe he is losing something that belongs to him.”
Claire felt the words settle.
Something that belongs to him.
Not someone.
She pushed the envelope back.
“I don’t want this.”
“You need it.”
“I need a copy from a legitimate source, not stolen medical records from his mother.”
Margaret’s expression changed, impressed despite herself.
“You’re right.”
“Also, I don’t trust you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
That answer was worse than defensiveness.
Claire stood.
Margaret did not stop her.
“Claire.”
She paused.
“I’m sorry.”
Claire turned.
“For what part?”
Margaret looked at the wine stain still visible along the neckline of Claire’s borrowed robe beneath her coat.
“For raising a man who thought humiliation was safer than honesty.”
Claire did not answer.
At nine the next morning, the video had 2.3 million views.
By ten, Claire’s employer knew.
She worked as a senior development director for a nonprofit hospital foundation, a job that involved wealthy donors, board members, discretion, and the ability to sit through lunches where people complained about property taxes on second homes.
Her supervisor, Natalie Shaw, called at 9:17.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Second question. Are you coming in?”
Claire looked at herself in the hotel bathroom mirror.
The cut on her cheek had a thin adhesive strip over it.
“I was going to.”
“Don’t.”
Claire stiffened.
Natalie sighed.
“Not because I’m punishing you. There are reporters downstairs.”
“At the office?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because apparently your fiancé’s family is interesting.”
“Former fiancé.”
“Good correction.”
Claire sat on the closed toilet lid.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing publicly.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Excellent. Our communications director is already having chest pain, so that’s helpful.”
“Natalie—”
“I’m joking. Mostly.”
Claire rubbed her forehead.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No. But you’re visible, and visibility makes boards nervous. Work remotely today. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Claire hated how relieved she felt.
After the call, she phoned the fertility clinic.
The coordinator would not discuss donor authorization over the phone until Claire verified multiple security questions.
Then she placed Claire on hold.
The hold music was a cheerful acoustic guitar version of something Claire almost recognized.
Eight minutes later, a compliance officer joined.
“Ms. Bennett, I’m looking at the record now.”
Claire sat at the hotel desk with a notebook.
“My file says I approved a donor change on May twenty-eighth.”
“Yes.”
“I did not.”
Silence.
Then, “I understand.”
“No, I need you to understand that I did not make that call.”
The woman’s voice became more formal.
“We will investigate.”
“Who made the call?”
“I can’t answer that until we review the record.”
“Do you record calls?”
“Some calls may be recorded for quality and documentation purposes.”
“Was mine?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Was there identity verification?”
“There should have been.”
Should.
Claire wrote the word.
“Do not alter anything in my file.”
“We would not.”
“I want that request documented.”
“Yes.”
“And I want copies of my full patient record, including communications and consent logs.”
“We can provide your records through a formal request.”
“I’ll send it today.”
The woman hesitated.
“Ms. Bennett, because there may be a discrepancy involving consent, I am escalating this internally.”
“Good.”
Claire ended the call and stared at her notes.
Her father had gone downstairs for coffee.
Her mother was ironing a blouse she did not need to iron.
“Do you think Ethan called pretending to be me?”
Denise stopped the iron.
“I think you should let the clinic tell you.”
“That’s exactly the kind of answer I hate.”
“I know.”
Claire’s phone buzzed.
Ethan.
She had ignored seventeen messages from him.
This one said:
You are letting my mother manipulate you. We need to discuss this before lawyers make it worse.
Claire showed her mother.
Denise read it.
“He always writes like someone is taking minutes.”
Claire laughed despite herself.
Then another message arrived.
I never intended last night to happen.
Another.
You embarrassed me first.
Denise handed the phone back.
“There he is.”
Claire looked at the message until the words blurred.
You embarrassed me first.
She typed:
Do not come to my apartment. Do not contact my parents. Communication should go through counsel until further notice.
She stared at it.
Then sent it.
Ethan called immediately.
She declined.
He called again.
She declined.
The third time, she blocked his number.
Her hand shook afterward.
It seemed ridiculous.
Blocking a number was not courage.
It was a button.
Yet Claire sat there breathing as if she had lifted something heavy.
At eleven, she called her attorney.
At noon, she called building management.
By one, she had arranged for Ethan’s access to her apartment to be suspended because his name was not on the lease or deed.
At one fifteen, building management called back.
“Ms. Bennett, Mr. Cole is currently in the apartment.”
Claire stood.
“What?”
“He entered approximately forty minutes ago.”
“With what?”
“His key.”
“I asked you to deactivate it.”
“We did. He may have entered before the change processed.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Of course.
Real life did not obey the clean order of instructions.
“What is he doing?”
“We don’t know.”
“Can security remove him?”
“If he has established residency, this becomes complicated.”
Claire’s lawyer, when called, said approximately the same thing with more billable words.
Ethan had been living there for eight months. Removing him was not necessarily as simple as canceling a key.
“Do not go there alone,” the lawyer said.
Everyone had begun telling Claire that.
She hated it because they were right.
May you like
Her father returned carrying four coffees.
“There were reporters in the lobby,” he said.
