Chapter 2: Stairs Don't Leave Fingerprints
Ethan didn't move.
For a long moment he just stood there, one hand still on the doorframe, staring at me with an expression I had never seen on his face before.
Then, very quietly, he said, "Andrew Vaughn."
It wasn't a question.
"Ethan, please—"
"How long?"
I couldn't answer.
My throat had closed completely.
"Ava." His voice was steady, but his jaw was tight.
"How long has he been doing this to you?"
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
Downstairs, the crowd erupted in applause.
Someone had just announced Ethan's name from the podium.
He didn't move toward the door.
"They're calling you," I whispered.
"I heard them."
"Your speech—"
"I don't care about the speech."
I grabbed his arm.
"If you go down there and say something, he will make my life impossible.
You don't know what he's capable of."
Something shifted in Ethan's eyes.
Not anger.
Something colder.
"I know exactly what he's capable of," he said.
"I've seen his patient files, Ava.
Three complaints.
All buried."
My blood went cold.
"What?"
"Someone on my board flagged it eight months ago.
I was told it was nothing." He paused.
"I believed them."
The applause grew louder.
A second announcement echoed up the stairwell.
Ethan finally looked away from me — toward the ballroom.
"Stay up here," he said.
"Ethan—"
"Stay up here."
He straightened his jacket, walked to the door, and stopped with his back to me.
"He buried three complaints," he said quietly.
"But he never counted on me finding a fourth."
Then he walked toward the stairs.
---
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What Ethan said from that stage left the entire room in stunned silence.
Click the link below to read the full story — the truth is far bigger than anyone in that ballroom expected.
