“I know.”
“Is it true?”
He did not answer too quickly. I appreciated that.
“Right now,” he said, “yes.”
Right now was small.
But it was something.
Over the next week, Grant lost pieces of himself in public.
First his company placed him on leave.
Then the foundation board released a statement expressing shock.
Then the state froze several accounts.
Then two women came forward.
Then five.
Then eleven.
Some had dated him. Some had worked for him. One had been a housekeeper when Grant was twenty-six. Their stories differed in detail but not in pattern. Charm first. Control second. Fear third. Silence purchased, threatened, or beaten into place.
The world loves a monster only until it recognizes the teeth.
After that, it enjoys watching him fall.
Reporters camped outside the hospital. I saw their vans from my window. They wanted the battered wife. The secret accountant. The woman who had gathered receipts while pretending to fold napkins and smile through charity dinners.
