Chapter 23
Chapter twenty-three
Ben
The flash blinds me as I step out of my car.
A lens in my face, someone shouting questions I’m not prepared to answer.
Security arrived late, attempting to push back the protesters and media.
When I arrived at the retreat, they were already five people deep at the entrance, banners swinging, fists in the air.
My morning coffee hadn’t been enjoyable, every sip more bitter than the last as I read the headlines.
Grieving CEO chooses who lives and dies.
The mother who lost her son takes children from others.
No line called her evil. They didn’t need to. It was implied.
The handle snapped clean off my mug. I hadn’t realized I was gripping it that hard. It hit the floor hard, fragments scattering over the tiles.
I’d checked my calendar.
Today, we have a shareholder walk around at the retreat. An opportunity to show off our progress. Wind-tight walls and waterproof roofs. The plans for the gardens and relaxation areas. All of which would be tainted by the slander online.
Julian is hiding in the site office when I arrive. The security holds back the press as I weave around the ballooning crowds.
“Tell me what actually happened with Longdown,” I say before he can greet me.
“Two candidates. One, older, on borrowed time. One, a younger drug user. Limited trial stock available. Antonia chose compliance over potential years.”
I nod. It makes sense. With the limited information, I’d have signed the same form.
“Daniel Longdown’s family is louder. It was three years ago, but his mother has never given up,” Julian continues. “And now her allies have microphones.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s the whole story.” Julian exhales.
Before all this, today had felt like a milestone; now it’s another bullet to dodge. There weren’t meant to be any cameras. No hurled questions. It was a walk around to settle the board’s and shareholders’ increasing anxiety.
It is going to have the opposite effect.
And I don’t know if she would be walking into it blind if, by chance, she hadn’t seen the articles.
Over the next twenty minutes, men arrive one by one in suits and tweed jackets.
Julian greets each one with a handshake and a nod to the cameras.
The crowd has cooled. Still there, but mostly talking among themselves.
Hope blooms in my chest that they may give up and go home, as the main spectacle hasn’t arrived yet.
I glance at my phone. No messages. No calls.
Antonia must be on her way.
I walk up to Julian, where he’s chatting to a small group. It looks more like a banker’s water cooler meeting than a charity event.
“Does she know?” I ask him.
His eyes slide to me. He takes a deliberate step away from the group.
“Know what?”
“That you invited the press.”
He freezes only for a moment. I don’t even blink.
“No. If she reacts naturally, it plays stronger.”
Before I can say anything, he walks away, his shoulders pulled back as if hanging on a coat rack.
My phone burns in my palm. I start the message. A warning. A chance to at least prepare herself when there’s a roar from outside.
She’s here.
Antonia’s jeep pulls up in front of the site office, tires sinking into mud. I’m out the door in a heartbeat, opening the driver’s side and offering my arm. I don’t ask if she wants it. I just offer.
“Head high,” I whisper. “Take my arm.”
She looks at me, fear flickering in her eyes. I’ve never seen her nervous. Not really. Not until today.
“Chin up,” I say, trying to smile.
She half-smiles back, steps down from the car, takes my arm, and we walk toward the office together.
“Was Daniel Longdown less deserving than your son?” one reporter shouts.
Antonia hesitates mid-step. I squeeze her fingers with my other hand. They’re ice.
“Will it ever stop?” she mutters under her breath.
I’m not sure I was even meant to hear.
We don’t turn around. We keep walking until we reach the site office. The name Daniel Longdown chases behind.
The words fade as I close the door.
Inside the office, Antonia drops my arm like it scorched her. She straightens, shoulders tall, chin high. The version of her they’re used to.
She doesn’t look at me, pinning her focus on Julian on the opposite side of the room. He stares right back, still as confident as before. The rest of the board flanking him.
“Did you invite them?” Antonia says. No raised voice. No emotion. Somehow that’s worse.
Julian doesn’t flinch.
“We needed to respond.” His eyes narrow, goading her to argue. “You had to.”
“This isn’t the right time.”
There’s a pause, each of them assessing the other.
“We couldn’t let the narrative run unchecked,” he says.
Her face darkens. “Today was meant to be reassurance.” Her voice is level. “Reassurance for our shareholders.”
Julian shakes his head, and the men shift uncomfortably.
“We’ve all read the same headlines.”
Antonia takes a step closer to him, jaw tight, hands clenched, then immediately opening.
“My son’s grave isn’t an agreed PR pivot.”
He exhales again. Loud. Frustrated. “I had no choice. We’re under attack.”
“And leaking a private moment is meant to protect us?”
He looks her square in the eye. How did she know the photo came from him?
“It makes you seem human.”
That lands. Antonia steps back. Julian holds his ground.
“Not human,” she hisses. “Broken.”
No one speaks. Silence eats at every crevice in the room. I wait for someone to take control. I’m surrounded by suits. By those in charge. They all stay silent.
More jeers from outside echo off the walls. I take a breath.
“This walk-through was to demonstrate progress. Compliance. The future,” I say, measured but exact. “That’s what we’re here for. Not PR. Shall we?”
I signal to the door. The men nod in unison, then walk out one by one. Julian follows with a single glance at Antonia. She stiffens.
“Join us when you feel ready,” he says.
She watches them leave. It’s then that I notice this isn’t the Antonia I’m used to.
Her red lips are missing. The blaze of hair is tied back, but strands fly away around her face. The jacket is tailored, but the shirt collar has creases as if it were worn before. And under her eyes is a hue of purple, evidence of staring at the ceiling at three in the morning.
Today, she didn’t plan a show. She planned to come here and survive.
“Take a minute,” I say. She glances over. “Take ten. This is your show.”
“Is it?”
The words come easy, but the flicker of uncertainty is one I’ve never seen.
“Yes. Opengate. This.” I tap the plans on the desk. “None of this would happen without you. Step outside today knowing that.”
“Give me a moment,” she says.
I step away to a corner, scrolling on my phone, looking at nothing. She rummages in her bag.
There’s a small mirror on the wall with a crack at its center. I watch out of the corner of my eye as she spreads deep crimson lipstick over her lips. Armor she didn’t have the strength to apply earlier today.
She turns to me. “Are you coming?”
I step up behind her, and we walk out into the chaos together.
Cameras hover in every direction. The questions fly as soon as we appear outside. I reach for her hand, then stop myself. She wouldn’t want that. Julian stands in front of the press, now congregated behind a metal fence, megaphone in hand.
The protesters have been moved outside the gates. “One question at a time,” Julian says, voice amplified.
We stepped outside expecting noise; we walk into theater. Caught between the crowd and the closed site office door, in front of a press conference we never agreed to.
“You’ve got this,” I say under my breath. “And I’m right here.”
“Antonia,” a reporter shouts. The rest hold their tongues. “In your opinion, was Daniel Longdown undeserving of treatment?”
She moves forward into the fray. Not beside Julian, but a little in front.
I stay where I am. Listening. Waiting. In case she needs support.
“No one deserves to have treatment withdrawn,” she says. “But when stocks are limited, someone must make the call.”
“How do you justify giving hope to a man who already lived twice as long?”
Antonia stiffens. If she mentions Daniel’s drug use, she risks blame shifting. If she doesn’t, they could spin it into an error.
Everyone waits. I move to her side, and she glances at me.
“Medical allocation isn’t a popularity contest,” I say slowly. “Its viability and risk assessment. The calls made aren’t easy. But they need to be made.”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd.
“Antonia makes decisions others don’t have the spine to. That’s not cruelty. It’s being accountable,” I add.
She exhales and her body loosening.
“Opengate exists because medicine is finite,” she says. “Every allocation is reviewed by professionals. No decisions are made lightly. No patient forgotten.”
“But some die,” someone shouts.
“Medicine isn’t immortality. It’s triage. Doing the best with what we have. But we hope to give as many as we can—prospects and time.”
She doesn’t falter. Every line delivered with ruthless clarity. But I see the effort it costs her. The shadow darkening beneath her eyes.
The interrogation seems to have passed. Julian steps forward to thank them for coming. When one final question comes from a reporter at the back. I can’t see them, but the female voice is sharp, cold.
“And, Doctor,” she says, “is Opengate a company you feel comfortable aligning with after all recent revelations?”
Antonia stiffens, not looking at me, but mimicking a gazelle ready to run.
“I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t,” I reply without hesitation.
***
Later, the crowd disperse, and the shareholders disappear in their sleek cars. Julian doesn’t wait or even say goodbye. Just vanishes without a word. He got what he wanted.
A spectacle.
I find Antonia in the office, behind the desk, pulling off her boots. One white sock is stained dark, her foot soaked enough that water drips from her toes. The office floor darkens beneath it.
“Those boots are done,” I say.
She chuckles but doesn’t look up, too busy rubbing at her feet as if they’ve walked across hot coals.
“They’re old,” she mutters. “But reliable… usually.”
“Perhaps it’s time for something that doesn’t leak.”
Her eyes rise, then we stare at one another for a moment.
“Perhaps,” she says.
As I turn for the door, I stop myself and rotate back. “Can I ask you something?”
She stills. “Anything.”
“Do you regret choosing the other patient?”
“No,” she replies firmly. “I regret there wasn’t enough for both.”
There’s no defense.
No self-preservation.
She owns her choice.
Doesn’t justify it.
She carries it.
There’s a lot about her I find attractive. But her tenacity takes my breath away.