Chapter 5 - The Apology
Jess's apartment was small and bright and smelled like vanilla candles.
Maya sat on the guest bed, staring at the wall. Jess was in the kitchen, making tea. The sound of the kettle was steady and soothing.
"You don't have to do this," Jess said.
"I know."
"You could just stay here. Forget about the hotel. Forget about everything."
"I can't."
Jess appeared in the doorway, two mugs in her hands.
"Why not?"
Maya took the mug.
"Because I'm not going to let him win."
Jess sat on the edge of the bed.
"It's not about winning. It's about what you need."
"I need to see this through."
"Why?"
Maya thought about it. She thought about the video, the offer, the way Cynthia had said "reasonable."
"Because if I take the money, I'm saying it was okay. That what he did—it's just something that can be paid for."
"It's not."
"I know. But that's what it would mean."
Jess was quiet for a moment.
"Then don't take the money."
"I'm not going to."
"Okay."
They sat in silence. The tea was warm in Maya's hands.
"There's something else," Maya said.
"What?"
"The hotel. Cynthia. She told me that the conference was canceled. Because of the video."
"That's not your fault."
"I know."
"But?"
"But I keep thinking about the other people who work there. The bellmen. The housekeeping staff. If the hotel loses business, they lose hours."
Jess frowned.
"You can't take responsibility for that."
"I know."
"But you are."
Maya looked at her friend.
"How do you do it?" she said.
"Do what?"
"Not care about what everyone else thinks."
Jess smiled.
"I don't. I just pretend I don't."
"That's not helpful."
"It's the truth." Jess set her mug down. "Look, you're going to do what you're going to do. I'm not going to tell you it's right or wrong. I'm just going to be here while you figure it out."
Maya nodded.
"Okay."
"Okay."
They drank their tea.
The next morning, Maya's phone rang.
She didn't recognize the number. She almost didn't answer. But something—instinct, maybe—made her pick up.
"Ms. Chen-Reyes?"
The voice was male. Smooth. Professional.
"This is Michael Grant. I'm Mr. Whitfield's attorney."
Maya felt her stomach tighten.
"I'm not interested in settling."
"I understand. But Mr. Whitfield would like to apologize. In person."
Maya was silent.
"Not as a legal maneuver," Grant continued. "He genuinely wants to make amends."
"Then why is his lawyer calling me?"
A pause.
"Because he's not sure you'll listen to him directly."
Maya thought about this.
"Where?"
"He's at the Marriott near the airport. He's willing to come to you. Or meet somewhere neutral."
Maya looked around Jess's apartment. The vanilla candles. The stack of magazines on the coffee table. The plant on the windowsill that Jess had forgotten to water.
"There's a coffee shop on Fifth," she said. "The one with the blue awning. I'll be there at noon."
"Thank you. He'll be there."
Maya hung up.
Then she called her father.
"I don't think you should go alone," Rafael said.
"I'm not going alone. I'm meeting him in a public place. There will be people around."
"That's not what I mean."
"I know what you mean."
"I can be there. In the background. Just in case."
"Dad."
"What?"
"You can't be there."
"Why not?"
"Because this is my thing. Not yours."
She heard him exhale.
"I know," he said.
"Do you?"
"I'm trying to."
She closed her eyes.
"I'll call you after."
"You'd better."
She hung up.
The coffee shop was crowded.
Maya arrived ten minutes early. She ordered a latte she didn't want to drink and sat at a table near the window. She could see the street. The people passing. The normal world going about its business.
At 12:02, Derek Whitfield walked in.
She recognized him immediately. Same expensive jacket. Same pointed shoes. But something was different. His shoulders were hunched. His eyes were red.
He saw her. He walked over.
"Ms. Chen-Reyes."
"Mr. Whitfield."
He stood there, awkward, like he didn't know what to do with his hands.
"Can I sit?"
She gestured to the chair across from her.
He sat.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The coffee shop hummed around them—the espresso machine, the conversation, the click of keyboards.
"I'm sorry," Derek said.
Maya waited.
"I'm sorry for what I did. For hurting you. For... for everything."
She looked at him.
"Why are you sorry?"
He blinked.
"What?"
"Why are you sorry? Is it because you feel bad, or because you got caught?"
He flinched.
"Both," he said.
"Honest."
"I'm trying to be."
She studied him. He looked tired. Smaller than she remembered.
"I watched the video," she said.
"Me too."
"What did you see?"
He was quiet.
"I saw someone who lost control," he said finally.
"That's not what I saw."
He looked up.
"I saw someone who wanted to hurt me," Maya said. "I saw someone who liked hurting me. I saw someone who felt powerful when I was on the floor."
He didn't answer.
"Is that who you are?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I don't want to be."
She set her coffee down.
"I'm not going to drop the charges."
"I know."
"I'm not going to sign your NDA."
"I know."
"I'm not going to let you pay me to be quiet."
He nodded.
"Okay."
She waited.
"That's all?"
He looked at her.
"What else is there?"
"How about the truth? Why did you do it?"
He was silent for a long time.
"I don't know," he said finally. "I was having a bad day. A bad week. A bad year."
"So that makes it okay?"
"No. Nothing makes it okay."
"Then why should I care about your bad day?"
He didn't answer.
"You kicked me," Maya said. "You kicked me and you told me to apologize to your dog. Do you know how that felt?"
"No."
"No, you don't. Because you were standing. You were in control. You were the one deciding what happened to me."
He looked down.
"I'm sorry," he said again.
"I know."
She stood up.
"I hope you get help," she said. "I hope you figure out whatever it is that makes you hurt people."
He didn't respond.
She walked out of the coffee shop.
Rafael was waiting outside.
He was standing by the blue awning, hands in his pockets, trying to look casual. He failed.
"I thought I told you not to come," Maya said.
"You did."
"And you came anyway."
"I did."
She looked at him. He looked back.
"I'm not going to yell at you," she said.
"You're not?"
"No."
"Okay."
She started walking. He fell into step beside her.
"How did it go?"
"He apologized."
"Did you believe him?"
"I don't know."
They walked in silence for a block.
"I'm still pressing charges," she said.
"Good."
"Are you going to try to stop me?"
"No."
She looked at him.
"Really?"
"I said I'd let you figure this out on your own."
"I thought that was just something you said."
He shrugged.
"I'm trying."
She thought about all the times he'd tried before. All the times he'd failed. All the times she'd resented him for it.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay?"
"Okay, I believe you."
He didn't smile. But something in his face shifted.
May you like
"Okay," he said.
They kept walking.
