Chapter 5 - I went still.
“What?”
“He developed pneumonia while he was there for an intensive rehab block.”
Her voice shook.
“The night his oxygen dropped, staffing was short.”
My chest tightened.
“I was working patient services.”
“You were employed there while he was a patient?”
“Yes.”
“Conflict?”
“Allowed because I wasn’t clinical.”
She swallowed.
“I noticed his call light history looked wrong after he died.”
I said nothing.
“Someone had cleared multiple calls without documenting response.”
My jaw tightened.
“What did you do?”
“Reported it.”
Of course.
“The center investigated.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“They found documentation failures.”
“Then why were you fired?”
“I accessed records I wasn’t authorized to access while trying to prove it.”
There.
Both truths.
“They said I violated privacy policy.”
“You did.”
“Yes.”
“And they had staffing failures.”
“Yes.”
“Did those cause his death?”
Fay’s eyes filled.
“I don’t know.”
That was the torture.
Not knowing.
“I thought if I found enough proof, I could make his death mean someone had failed him.”
She cried quietly.
“What if nobody did?”
I asked.
She looked at me.
“Then he just died.”
There it was.
The fear beneath investigation.
Randomness.
Loss without villain.
I understood too well.
“What happened after?”
“Westbridge changed call-response auditing.”
“So your report mattered.”
“Maybe.”
“And you lost your job.”
“Yes.”
“Would you do it again?”
She thought.
“Yes.”
Good.
I almost smiled.
Then:
“I’m sorry I dug.”
“You didn’t dig much.”
“Still.”
She nodded.
“Thank you.”
“What do you want to do next?”
“I don’t know.”
Good.
Maybe I had infected everyone with that answer.
“Would you go back?”
“To Westbridge?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Too much history.”
“Fair.”
“What about rehabilitation coordination somewhere else?”
“I’d like that.”
I nodded.
“Then apply.”
She stared.
“That’s all?”
I smiled faintly.
“I’m trying not to solve.”
“Painful?”
“Excruciating.”
She laughed through tears.
Good.
Fay applied to three rehabilitation organizations.
She received two offers.
One from a nonprofit outpatient center called Harbor Steps.
Lower salary than I paid.
More meaningful work.
She accepted.
When she told me, I felt proud.
Then selfishly devastated.
“When?”
“Three weeks.”
I nodded.
“Good.”
“You look angry.”
“I’m thrilled.”
“Liar.”
“I contain multitudes.”
She laughed.
“Dominic.”
“What?”
“Three weeks.”
“I heard.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“I know.”
That was the problem.
I would.
Before her, I thought dependence was the deepest form of connection.
If someone was necessary, they could not leave.
Now Fay was leaving precisely because she no longer needed this job.
And I wanted her to be free enough that if she ever came back, it would mean something.
Terrifying.
Healthy.
I hated healthy things.
On her last day, Mrs. Gable organized lunch.
I objected.
Lost.
Carmine gave Fay an expensive pen.
She refused.
Then accepted after he explained it was from staff, not me.
Traitor.
Leah came.
Dr. Bennett came.
Even Detective Ruiz sent flowers because apparently Fay had charmed law enforcement too.
I stayed in my study until everyone finished cake.
Cowardice.
Then Fay came in.
“You’re hiding.”
“I live here.”
“Convenient.”
I looked at her.
No maid uniform.
No work apron.
Just jeans, sweater, hair down.
Different.
Employee no longer.
My pulse changed.
“You finished payroll paperwork?”
“Yes.”
“Benefits?”
“Yes.”
“References?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Silence.
Fay smiled faintly.
“You’re terrible at this.”
“I know.”
“At goodbye.”
“I know.”
She looked toward my walker beside the desk.
“You’re doing better.”
“Yes.”
“Keep going.”
“I will.”
“Even when I’m not here.”
I looked at her.
“That sounds arrogant.”
“Probably.”
Then:
“Do you still want dinner?”
My heart stopped.
“You said when you no longer worked for me.”
“I no longer work for you.”
I looked at the clock.
“Tonight?”
She smiled.
“You ask badly.”
I sighed.
“Fay Willis, would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow evening?”
“Public place.”
“Fine.”
“You choose?”
“No.”
She laughed.
“Why?”
“My restaurants create problems.”
Fair.
“You choose.”
She thought.
“There’s a small Italian place near Harbor Steps.”
“Does it have stairs?”
Her expression changed.
Not pity.
Practicality.
“I’ll check.”
“No.”
“What?”
“I will.”
She stared.
Important.
Access as my responsibility, not hers.
I called.
Ground-floor entrance.
Accessible restroom.
Good.
“Seven?”
Fay smiled.
“Yes.”
Then she walked out.
No dramatic kiss.
No confession.
Just a date.
The first one I had asked for in years where money, fear, or power could not guarantee yes.
My hands shook more than they had during my first assisted step.
Pathetic.
Human.
That night, Carmine came into my study.
“You look terrified.”
“Leave.”
“Date?”
“How do you know?”
“Mrs. Gable.”
Of course.
“This house has no confidentiality.”
“Correct.”
He sat.
“You deserve something normal.”
I looked at him.
“Normal?”
“Dinner.”
“Nothing about my life is normal.”
“That’s because you used to fire anyone who suggested it.”
I smiled faintly.
Then he became serious.
“What will you tell her about the business?”
Everything.
Eventually.
Not details that endangered her.
But enough to choose knowingly.
“She already knows who I am.”
“No.”
Carmine looked at me.
“She knows the version in the house.”
That mattered.
“Then tomorrow.”
“Good.”
“And Dominic?”
“What?”
“The criminal cases around Serena and Shaw are resolving.”
I nodded.
“Restitution agreements.”
“Yes.”
“Matteo cooperated.”
“Yes.”
“Lowell pled to reckless endangerment and related charges.”
“Yes.”
No revenge.
No disappearing people.
Law.
Consequences.
“Does it feel enough?”
Carmine asked.
Old question.
I thought.
“No.”
He nodded.
Then:
“Does that matter?”
I looked at my legs.
At walker.
Wheelchair.
Scars.
My body would never become what it was simply because courts punished people.
Enough was impossible.
So punishment could never be the metric.
“No.”
Carmine smiled.
“Good.”
I hated when everyone became wise around me.
“Get out.”
He did.
The date went badly.
Perfectly badly.
The restaurant lost our reservation.
A family with three children occupied the only accessible table.
We waited twenty minutes.
My chair bumped a planter.
Fay laughed.
I glared.
The waiter spilled water.
I almost reverted into the man who could make managers appear instantly.
Then Fay raised an eyebrow.
I said:
“It’s fine.”
She looked delighted.
“Who are you?”
“Temporary personality disorder.”
We finally sat.
Fay ordered pasta.
I ordered fish.
Then silence.
At home, we always had work.
Therapy.
Food.
Medication.
Conflict.
Now nothing.
Fay smiled.
“This is awkward.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Means it’s real.”
I looked at her.
Then told her.
About Corso operations.
Legitimate companies.
Illegal history.
The parts I was changing.
The parts I could not sanitize with one dinner.
I did not glamorize.
Did not say I was misunderstood.
I told her I had frightened people deliberately.
Used power aggressively.
Built an organization where my reputation did half the coercion.
Fay listened.
Then:
“Are you asking me to approve?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Are you scared?”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
She continued.
“Not that you’ll hurt me tonight.”
Important.
“I’m scared of how easy power can make boundaries meaningless.”
I looked at her.
“That is fair.”
“What happens if I say no to something you really want?”
“You already have.”
“Dating was small.”
“It did not feel small.”
She smiled.
Then:
“What about bigger?”
“I don’t know.”
Wrong answer?
No.
Honest.
“I would like to say I respect it.”
“Would you?”
“I’m learning.”
Fay nodded.
“Good.”
“What do you need?”
“Time.”
“Yes.”
“Independence.”
“Yes.”
“No gifts I can’t reciprocate.”
I frowned.
“Define.”
“Nothing that changes my life without discussion.”
Good.
“Dinner okay?”
“Yes.”
“Jewelry?”
“Not now.”
“Housing?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Car?”
She stared.
“Do not buy me a car.”
I almost laughed.
“Understood.”
Then:
“What about you?”
“What?”
May you like
“What do you need?”
Nobody asked.
