Chương 8
Emma looked through the glass wall at Sophie sitting outside with coffee.
“Did you still love him?”
“For a while.”
“Do you now?”
Elena’s expression was almost offended.
“No.”
Emma nodded.
“Good.”
Elena laughed.
It was the first uncomplicated moment between them.
Then Emma asked, “Why would Claire do this again?”
Elena became serious.
“Because she doesn’t think she did anything wrong.”
That answer frightened Emma more than greed would have.
Claire did not see herself as a monster.
She saw herself as a surgeon who understood outcomes better than frightened patients did.
According to records Elena copied, Claire had spent years developing a proprietary planning method based partly on postoperative measurements from former patients.
Most uses appeared legitimate.
Simulation.
Symmetry analysis.
Custom surgical guides.
Then came the internal presentations.
Predictive Aesthetic Replication.
PAR.
The phrase appeared repeatedly.
Emma’s photographs were included.
So were Elena’s.
Emma looked at the slides on Elena’s laptop.
There was her face before surgery.
Front.
Profile.
Three-quarter view.
Lines overlaid across her jaw.
Numbers.
Angles.
Targets.
Her body became strangely distant while she looked.
“Where did she get permission to use these?”
“You signed a photography release.”
“For my own treatment.”
“The wording is broad.”
Emma remembered the forms.
Pages on a tablet.
Initial here.
Scroll.
Initial.
She had read them.
Mostly.
She had trusted Claire.
That word again.
Trusted.
Emma closed the laptop.
“I want to talk to her.”
Elena stiffened.
“Claire?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because everybody keeps telling me what she thinks.”
“You shouldn’t be alone with her.”
“I won’t be.”
“Your lawyer—”
“I don’t have one yet.”
Elena stared.
“Get one.”
“I’m working on it.”
“No. Get one today.”
Emma almost snapped at her.
Then she saw what was behind Elena’s insistence.
Seven years of wishing she had done things differently.
“Okay.”
Emma retained attorney Naomi Chen that afternoon.
Naomi was forty-four, practical, impatient with drama, and unwilling to promise Emma the satisfying courtroom destruction Sophie secretly wanted.
“This may take years if litigated,” she said.
“Years?”
“Yes.”
“I need my face fixed before then.”
“That’s separate.”
“It doesn’t feel separate.”
“It isn’t emotionally. Legally and medically, we have to treat different problems differently.”
Emma disliked that answer.
Which made her trust it.
Naomi began preserving evidence, obtaining independent medical review, and communicating with the clinic’s insurer.
She also told Emma not to contact Claire.
Emma agreed.
Then Claire contacted her.
The message arrived at 11:18 p.m.
I owe you the truth without lawyers in the room.
Emma showed Naomi the next morning.
“Absolutely not.”
“What if she’ll talk?”
“She can talk to me.”
“She won’t.”
“Then she can talk to police.”
Emma stared at the message.
“I need to hear her.”
Naomi sighed.
“You need a lot of things. Needing them doesn’t make them safe.”
Emma hated being told what she needed.
Naomi saw it.
“Fair.”
That one word prevented an argument.
They arranged a meeting instead.
Claire could attend with counsel.
Emma would attend with Naomi.
The conversation would be documented with everyone’s consent.
It happened four days later in Naomi’s office.
Claire wore navy instead of white.
That bothered Emma.
She had expected the white suit, as if villains should respect continuity.
Claire sat across the conference table.
Martin Vale beside her.
Naomi beside Emma.
Nobody touched the water.
Claire looked at Emma’s bandages.
“How are you?”
Emma almost walked out.
Naomi put a hand flat on the table.
Not touching Emma.
Just there.
Emma said, “Tell me why.”
Claire looked at Martin.
He said, “My client can explain certain factual matters, but ongoing investigations—”
Emma stood.
Claire said, “Sit down.”
Emma looked at her.
Claire corrected herself.
“Please.”
Emma sat.
Claire took a breath.
“I did not intend to perform the full procedure that was performed.”
Naomi said, “Be specific.”
Claire nodded.
“The operative plan in the system when Emma entered surgery included mandibular contouring, genioplasty, buccal fat reduction, and rhinoplasty.”
“Who entered it?”
“My credentials were used.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Claire’s eyes moved to Naomi.
“I don’t know.”
Emma said, “Did you read the plan before cutting me?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you stop?”
Claire looked at her.
“Because I believed you had changed your mind.”
Emma laughed.
It hurt less now.
“Based on what?”
“Your consent documentation. Daniel’s authorization. Messages in your chart.”
“What messages?”
Claire slid printed pages across the table.
They were portal messages supposedly sent from Emma’s patient account.
I’ve decided I want the stronger profile we discussed.
Please don’t make me explain it again in person. I’ll lose my nerve.
Daniel understands what I want and can confirm if needed.
Emma read them.
Her stomach tightened.
They sounded almost like her.
Almost.
Whoever wrote them knew she hated confrontation.
Knew she joked about losing her nerve.
Knew Daniel would be with her.
“I didn’t send these.”
“I know that now.”
“Did you know then?”
Claire’s answer took too long.
“I had doubts.”
Naomi leaned forward.
“What doubts?”
“The language was unusual.”
“For Emma?”
“Yes.”
“You had met her three times.”
“Four.”
Emma stared.
Claire continued.
“She was conservative in every consultation. She repeatedly said she wanted to remain recognizable. The change described in the messages was inconsistent.”
“And you operated anyway.”
“Yes.”
The word fell heavily.
“Why?”
Claire’s face finally lost its composure.
Not dramatically.
Her shoulders lowered.
She looked older.
“Because I wanted the result.”
There it was.
No conspiracy.
No algorithm controlling her.
No mysterious force.
A person wanting something.
Claire continued.
“The replication project had stalled. Our models were accurate in simulation but inconsistent in surgical translation. Emma’s anatomy was unusually suitable for testing the planning guides.”
Emma felt Naomi tense beside her.
Claire said, “I convinced myself the consent was real because I wanted it to be real.”
Martin murmured, “Claire.”
She ignored him.
“I told myself adults change their minds. I told myself Daniel’s involvement explained the inconsistency. I told myself I was being paternalistic by questioning a competent patient’s documented request.”
May you like
Emma whispered, “You knew.”
Claire looked at her.
