Page 35 of Texas
“He’s taking everything from me,” she says quietly.
“No,” I say. “He’s trying to.”
Turning to me, I see she is breaking inside. “I can’t fight this,” she says. “He owns the board. Half the town.”
“Then we go around them.”
She blinks. “What?”
“You go public,” I say. “Hold a press conference. Go live. Post it all. Tell every woman you’ve helped. Every patient. Every person who’s watched him play the saint. Tell them what he’s done.”
“That could destroy me,” she says in a whisper.
“Maybe,” I say. “But it will free you too.” She stares at me for a long time.
Then, slowly, she nods. “Okay,” she says, voice steadier now. “Let’s burn this fucker down.” And just like that, I know I’m not leaving. Not yet.
Twenty-One
Kristin’s been pacing her office at the clinic since sunrise, lips moving as she runs through her speech again and again, one hand wrapped tightly around her phone like it’s the only anchor she’s got left. Her hair’s up, but a few curls have already broken loose and there’s a flush high on her cheeks from adrenaline, fear, or maybe both. I sit on the edge of the desk, watching her. Her voice is steady, but I hear the tension at the edges. I want to pull her in and tell her it’ll be fine, but I don’t. This isn’t a fairytale, and I’m not here to rescue her. I’m only here to make sure she gets to swing her own damn sword.
“You’re going to kill it,” I say, finally. My voice is calm, the way it always is before a fight. “You think those women out there came for Will? They came for you. You gave them something they never had in this town. Someone to stand up for them.”
Stopping, she looks at me. “What if nobody listens?”
I shrug. “Then we make them.” I hold up my phone. “We’re streaming this. Posting every damn soundbite. You’ll be everywhere before Will can even call his lawyer.”
She gives a shaky laugh, but there’s steel in it. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not,” I tell her. “But it’s necessary.”
With a nod, I see her shoulders set. There’s a storm coming and she’s decided she’s not running from it this time. Good. I stand, squeeze her hand once, then slip out the back door for some air and a little privacy. I need to work on the last piece of the plan. While pacing the grass, I call Matt, and he picks up on the first ring.
“Holliday. You alive?”
“Still breathing. You got something for me?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says, all business now. “Cleveland’s dirtier than a latrine in Kandahar. I dug into his LLCs, and he’s been laundering money through dummy companies for years. Things like real estate “investments” that never break ground, but the money moves anyway. He’s got a shell company out of Houston that’s been wiring funds to a city councilman’s wife. I’ve got the records. And none of this covers the bribes we know he’s laying out. The guy’s the worst kind of scumbag.”
That’s enough to make me smile. “You got proof?”
“Enough,” he answers. “I’ve got a few PDFs, some wire transfers. A little looking, and I bet the feds can find lots of emails. I’m sending you a Dropbox link. You post this, you can start the wheels in motion to burn him to the ground.”
“Matt, you’re a fucking saint.”
“Careful who you call a saint,” he says with a snort. “Listen, Reggie. Guys like Cleveland? They don’t go down easy. He’ll come at you sideways. Be ready.”
“I’m always ready,” I say. “Thanks, Matt. You ever need anything…”
“Just don’t get dead. And if you do, at least make it interesting.”
I hang up, heart pounding, and scan the files as they come through. Screenshots of the dirt. Enough to get a DA’s interest for sure. I forward them to Kristin, then set up a backup on a burner email. Just in case. I tuck the phone away, roll myshoulders, and head around the side of the clinic. The crowd’s already gathering.
It’s not huge. Maybe thirty people and a couple of reporters. A few women I recognize from the waiting room, holding hands, faces set and grim. Donna stands near the front, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Hank leans on his cane at the edge of the sidewalk. There are kids, a few old men, even a couple of teenagers with their phones out, no doubt ready to put whatever happens on social media, which is perfect. Denise is stationed at the tripod holding Kristin’s phone. Tasha’s got her arms folded, her body angled in front of Kristin like a bodyguard.
I hang back, my hands in my pockets. I’m here any case there is any trouble, not the spotlight. My job is to watch the crowd, scan for Will’s dogs, and make damn sure Kristin doesn’t get blindsided. In another moment, Kristin steps up to the makeshift podium. It’s only a folding table with her notes, a bottle of water, and a mic Donna drummed up from the local community college. First, she looks at the crowd, then right into the lens of the phone. “My name is Kristin Lennox,” she says. Her voice is steady, but I see the tremor in her hands. “I’m a nurse practitioner, the director of this clinic, and a woman who has spent her life serving this community.”
She starts slow, but her voice builds. She tells them about the harassment. About the cameras, the threats, and the legal bullshit Will’s been throwing at her. She doesn’t cry, but stands there and tells the truth, plain and unvarnished. “I have been threatened with eviction from my home. I have been told I am unfit to serve this clinic,” she continues. “I have been called immoral, unstable, and dangerous, all for providing women with healthcare and choices. I am here to say I will not be silenced. I will not let this town’s power brokers decide who gets care and who gets punished. I will not let a man who cannot control his own impulses control mine.”
