She shook her head. “You can’t. He owns everyone here.”
“He doesn’t own the truth,” I said. “And he doesn’t own me.”
I didn’t tell her about Richard. I didn’t tell her that in exactly two hours, a team of investigative journalists would be arriving with cameras and recorders and a stack of documents I had quietly requested from old colleagues in the state health department. I didn’t tell her that by this time tomorrow, Julian Landry’s face would be on the front page of every news website in the region, and that the hospital board would be scheduling an emergency meeting to suspend him pending a full investigation.
I didn’t tell her any of that, because she needed peace, not more anxiety. She needed to believe, just for the next few hours, that everything would be okay.
And I would make sure it was.
We walked out of the ultrasound suite together, arm in arm. Chloe moved a little easier now, as if a tiny weight had been lifted. The corridor was still bright and clean, still full of the soft sounds of nurses’ shoes on polished floors. Nothing had changed in the physical world.
But everything had changed in the world that mattered.
As we passed the director’s office, the door was closed. I could see through the frosted glass that the light was on inside. Julian was in there, probably reviewing charts, probably feeling secure in his power. He had no idea that the walls were already closing in.
