“Her assistant was feeding papers into the shredder so fast it jammed.”
I stared at her.
This was the moment.
The moment where fear asks you what kind of person you’re really going to be.
I could walk out.
I could tell myself I had done enough.
I could let the lawyers handle it.
Or I could remember Arthur’s face when Scout hit his lap.
I could remember six months of hearing him whisper the same name into the dark.
I could remember every time I charted “patient appears sedated” and got told to stop being emotional.
“Tamika,” I said quietly, “are you willing to say that out loud?”
Her mouth trembled.
“If they ask me under oath, yes.”
That was enough.
I left the building with my heart trying to hammer its way through my ribs.
My phone rang before I even got to my car.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman’s voice came through, smooth and sharp.
“This is Raina Mercer. I represent Arthur in the emergency matter filed by his children. One of the gentlemen at the facility said you may be willing to speak with me.”
I leaned against my car door and shut my eyes.
It had begun faster than I imagined.
“What kind of matter?”
“They’re seeking immediate return, reinstatement of medical authority, and a restraining order against the club.”
Of course they were.
Because people like Arthur’s son and daughter never called what they did betrayal.
They called it responsibility.
They called it practical.
They called it difficult choices.
They wrapped greed in the language of concern and hoped nobody looked too close.
“Will you testify?” Raina asked.
“Yes,” I said.
No pause.
No hesitation.
Just yes.
Her voice softened by half a degree.
“Then I suggest you don’t go home first.”
That got my attention.
