The ribbon-cutting was six hours ago and I can still hear her voice.
Are you trying to distract the public from some less-than-savory elements of your family business?
In the moment, I wanted to laugh. Right there at the podium, in front of the cameras and the sick kids and the hospital administrators who think my family’s money doesn’t have blood crusted under its fingernails. Not just laugh—I’d wanted to throw my head back and howl, because the woman I’ve been burying myself inside every night just stood up in a room full of journalists and went for my f*****g throat.
She’s going to get us both killed.
I’m sitting in my office with the lights off and the door locked, chair swiveled toward the windows. The city below is doing what it always does—moving, grinding, eating itself alive—a
