“No, it isn’t. Let me tell you why.”
With thinned lips and flared nostrils, Chelsea stares at me for a beat. She glances at Shay lying quietly on the sofa, then looks warily back at me.
“I’m listening.”
“Dylan passed an extensive background check when he was hired. It’s a process everyone goes through. If HR discovers any hint of impropriety in your history, you don’t get the job. I’m talking criminal convictions, but also arrests that don’t result in a conviction. Charges that were brought but dropped. Lawsuits. Settlements. Liens. Credit. References. Education. Social media profiles. Everything.”
“What’s your point?”
“He’s squeaky clean.”
“He’s a scumbag! You saw that tape! We’ll give it to the police and get him thrown in jail!”
“Maybe. Maybe not. He has no priors. No criminal history of any kind. He’s a smooth-talking Caucasian male with a sympathetic face. The court system is historically lenient on people like him. And he can afford to hire a very good attorney. Best case scenario, he gets sentenced to a few years but probably doesn’t spend any time in prison.”
She mulls it over silently for a moment. “Community service, not conviction.”
“Yes. Which means he’s free to do it again.”
She turns away, props her hands on her hips and stares silently down at Shay on the sofa. Then she turns back to me.
“I assume you have an alternative.”
“Yes.”
“Which is?”
“I’ll take care of him.”
She scoffs. “What, you’ll demote him to the mail room?”
“No. That isn’t what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
I gaze at her steadily but remain silent.
She lifts her brows and looks at Emiliano. “Is he serious?”
“As a heart attack, mami.”
She reassesses me, looking me up and down. Then she folds her arms over her chest again and cocks her head. “You’ll take care of him.”
“You heard what I said.”
“How will I know? Will it be on the news? Local Business Mogul Buries Scumbag in the Desert?”
“It won’t be on the news. And it won’t be in the desert.”
After a moment, she laughs. “You’re joking.”
“You know I’m not. But if it helps you feel better, you’re welcome to think that.”
When she only stands there staring at me in disbelieving silence, I say, “Let me ask you a question, Chelsea. How many girls have you seen pass through your ER in Shay’s condition?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“And how many rape victims? Assault victims? Domestic violence victims?”
Her jaw works. She swallows. Her voice comes out low. “You know the answer to that too.”
“And how many of the men who abused all those women got the punishment they deserve?”
“A few.”
“Too few. Most of them walk, and the abuse escalates until somebody’s dead.”
Anger flashes in her eyes. Her voice rises. “So what? You’re some kind of billionaire vigilante who crunches numbers during the day and fights crime by night?”
“I don’t fight crime. I solve problems.”
She throws her hands in the air. “Oh, for God’s sake, this is ridiculous.” She turns to Emiliano. “Are you listening to this lunatic?”
He turns in his chair and gazes at her, thoughtfully turning his gold crucifix over in his fingers. “Not everybody who does bad things looks like a bad person. Same as not everybody who looks good is good. Nothin’s black or white. Whole world’s just shades of gray, mami. We’re all on the spectrum.”
She says flatly, “Great. I’ve got a nutjob rich dude on one hand and a gangster philosopher on the other.”
“Former gangster. But look at you, for example. Eres muy bonita, like a Barbie doll, pretty smile and perfect hair. But you got some claws on you, don’t you? Under all that pretty there’s a savage little beast who’d slit a man’s throat for hurting her friend and sleep just fine at night after.”
She slowly turns and looks at Shay. A strange look crosses her face. “I might not sleep fine. But I’d sleep.”
Emiliano’s cell rings. He answers it, listens, then disconnects. “Doc’s here. Should I send him in?”
Chelsea and I look at each other.
“It’s up to you.”