“I am the Chief of Medicine.”

“I cannot have a federal fraud investigation attached to my name.”

“We can pay it,” he said, his eyes desperate.

“I’ll work two jobs.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“You can’t work two jobs in medical school,” I said flatly.

“You know that.”

“Please, Elizabeth.”

He fell to his knees on the dirty concrete.

It was a pathetic, theatrical gesture, but the tears on his face were real.

“She’s my mother,” he sobbed.

“She’s your aunt.”

“She’s a criminal,” I said.

I looked down at him, feeling a profound sense of detachment.

The warmth of family ties had been burned away by years of demands and guilt.

This was the final ember.

“Get up, Jason,” I said.

He didn’t move.

“Get up,” I repeated, louder this time.

He slowly stood, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his jacket.

“Are you going to help me?” he asked.

“I need to think,” I said.

“Go home.”

“But the police—”

“Go home, Jason.”

“I won’t say anything to them tonight.”

“But you have to leave now.”