She stares at me like I've asked her to set the building on fire. "You can't be serious."
"I'm completely serious."
For a long moment, the only sound is the low hum of the air-conditioning. Shirley's fingers drum against the desk blotter for a moment while tension builds. Then she slowly rolls back her chair and rises. She states, "I can't do that."
"You can. You will," I order.
She shakes her head. "No. I won't help you pretend this is normal. I won't lie to your patients. I won't pretend I didn't see what I saw, or that I didn't spend the last twenty-four hours wondering if Blue is okay and how she's going to get the help she deserves!"
Guilt hits me hard. I argue through clenched teeth, "I have helped Blue."
Shirley scoffs, "What you did isn't help."
"You don't know how I helped her."
"The board isn't going to look the other way on this," she threatens.
Something dark unveils inside me. I warn, "Be careful what you say, Shirley."
Her eyes turn to slits. "Meaning what?"
"Meaning that Blue's family is making this go away. And I'm sure you understand that you don't want to piss off the Ivanovs. You do know what happens when they don't get their way, correct?"
Her eyes widen, and her face pales.
For the first time in too long, satisfaction hits me. Scaring Shirley is wrong and something I never thought I'd do, but the look on her face—the quick flicker of real fear—cuts through the hollow ache in my chest like a clean blade and steadies me.
I don't blink. I let the silence stretch until it presses against her.
She swallows hard. Her hand tightens on the strap of her purse until her knuckles bleach white. She mutters, "You are threatening me."
My voice stays level. "I'm stating facts. The Ivanovs have spoken. Charges are dropped. Blue's time with us is erased. The complaint you were so eager to file? It's buried. Deep. And if you push, if you talk, ifyou so much as breathe a word to anyone outside this room, they won't come after me. They'll come after you. Understand?"
She stares at me like she's seeing a stranger. Her breath comes in short, shallow pulls. I watch the color drain from her cheeks until she looks almost gray.
The woman who organized my schedule for seven years, who brought me soup when I had the flu, who once stayed late to help me rewrite a report after a sixteen-hour day, shrinks right in front of me.
Part of me hates this. It's the part of me who remembers her birthday card every year, and the way she always kept my coffee mug washed and waiting. But the bigger part, the one that's been bleeding since Blue walked out of my life, doesn't care.
I add, "So start calling clients and get them back on the schedule."
Her voice wavers, "It's not ethical."
"This is a losing cause, isn't it?" I blurt out.
She mistakes my question. "Yes. You need to resign."
A short, sharp burst of laughter dripping with superiority and contempt comes out of me. I realize this is a losing battle, and some things need a fresh start. I take a deep breath, and a wicked grin overpowers me. I cross my arms. "Thank you for your time here. You're fired."
Shirley takes one step back. Then another. Her heel catches the edge of the rug, and she stumbles, just a fraction. She rights herself quickly, but the damage is done. She looks small and fragile, and for some twisted reason, it gives me a wicked, satisfying thrill that settles low and heavy in my chest.
"I thought you were different," she says. Her voice cracks on the last word.
I start feeling a rush of power. "Life changes things."
Her shoulders drop. "I guess we're done here then."
"Guess we are."
