Chapter 15
The chandelier hummed above us and the recording had stopped. No one moved at first. The air in the living room felt warmer than it had an hour before, thick with lamp light and the smell of white roses starting to turn. I was still sitting at the edge of the cream damask couch, my phone in my right hand, its screen dark. The echo of my own voice from the speaker hung there with us - his voice, too, saying things he thought I'd never heard.
The man in the black suit stood behind the couch with his fist still resting on the back where he'd leaned over me. The older man had his arms crossed again, his left hand tucked up, that large square silver ring with the black onyx stone catching the light. The blond man in the light gray suit kept his hands in his pockets. They were all looking at me now, not down at me. That was the difference.
I took a breath and felt the sequins of my dress pull tight across my knees.
"I need to say this clearly so there's no misunderstanding later," I said. My voice shook at first and then held. "We're done. We have been done. I don't want you to call me or text me or come by my apartment. Don't send anyone to talk for you."
The man in the black suit opened his mouth. "You don't mean that, you -"
"I do," I said. "You told me I misunderstood everything. I didn't. I heard every word you said when you thought I couldn't."
He stepped back from the couch like I'd pushed him. His hands flexed and then fell to his sides. I didn't look away.
I turned to the older man. "And your foundation. Your gala. All of it. I'm not part of that family anymore. I won't be at fundraisers smiling for photos. I won't take your calls. If you need to contact me, you can do it through the sheriff."
His jaw tightened. He didn't answer right away. The crystal lamp threw a warm circle on the side table next to the framed photo.
Then I looked at the blond man. "Thank you," I said. "For not lying when it would have been easier to."
He gave me a short nod, his eyes on the floor. "You shouldn't have had to hear it that way," he said quietly.
I lifted the phone and switched it to speaker with my thumb. My hands were steady now. I dialed the non-emergency number for the county sheriff that I'd looked up weeks before and never called. It rang twice.
"Sheriff's Office, non-emergency line," a woman answered.
I gave my name and the address of the house. "I'm calling to make a report about what happened tonight and at the charity gala last weekend," I said. "In the private dressing suite after the gala, there was an attempt to pressure me into staying alone with someone. Tonight I was given a drink here that made me unable to move or speak clearly. I heard the conversation while I was on the couch. I have an audio backup saved off this phone."
The dispatcher asked for names. I gave them - the man in the black suit, the older man. I gave the date of the gala and the address of this living room. "The backup is in cloud storage and with a friend," I said. "I can provide that."
The older man uncrossed his arms. He slid his left hand forward on the arm of a chair, the ring prominent. His voice was calm, practiced, the voice he used at donor dinners.
"Let's not do this on the record," he said. "We can handle this privately, fairly. A settlement. An NDA that protects everyone. You walk away with money, no police report needed. My attorney can draft it tonight."
He turned his hand so the onyx caught the chandelier light. It was the same hand I'd seen blurred behind my face when I was crying.
I shook my head. "I don't want money. I want a record."
"It's more than you'd get otherwise," he said softly.
"I know," I said. "I don't want it."
The dispatcher was still on speaker. She said a deputy was available and asked if I was safe to wait.
"I am," I said. "I'll wait on the front porch. Front door will be open."
I ended the call. The man in the black suit stared at the phone in my hand. "You're going to ruin everything over one night," he said. His voice was lower now, not pleading, just flat.
"It wasn't one night," I said. I stood up from the couch. My legs felt light and then solid under me. The teardrop crystal earring brushed my neck.
I walked past the side table with the vase of white roses, past the gold-framed mirror that had seen the whole thing. No one stopped me. My hand found the front door. The brass was cool. I turned the deadbolt myself, turned the handle myself, and pulled.
May you like
October air came in. The porch light was on. The street was quiet, a county road quiet, and somewhere down the hill I could hear a car coming slow. I stepped out and held the door open behind me. My phone was still in my hand, warm from the call.
Behind me the living room stayed lit and empty, the cream couch with the dent where I'd lain, the three men standing in the same places they'd stood at the start, only now watching a door they'd expected to stay closed.
