Friday. The depositions were finally over. One week had melted into a month, heavy and airless, dragging spring into June. James sat with Nomura in his office, slides waiting, but neither could focus.

“James,” Nomura whispered, his eyes fixed on the wall of framed diplomas. “I need some time to myself.”

James nodded. As he left, the bolt clicked behind him.

Nomura dimmed the lights. He folded his arms across his chest, slumped into the chair, and stared at the diplomas that once gave him pride. His soul had been on trial. Now there was a settlement on the table—but no dollar figure could silence the demons of deceit.

Gaman. Suffer in silence.

He pressed his forehead against the window. The brick facade across the courtyard had been his home for thirty years. Now the walls pressed inward, suffocating. Heart Mountain. Internment. Betrayal. What had his father’s silence accomplished? His mother’s sacrifice? What had his own endurance purchased?

Across town, a different kind of conversation unfolded.

Hartman stood at the window of his corner office, surveying Riverside’s gleaming glass facade. Carlisle sat opposite him, fingers steepled, eyes cold.

“What about that resident, Deetan?” Hartman asked.

Carlisle sneered. “He confronted me, claimed he ‘knew everything.’ Nomura’s shadow. Loyal, reckless.”

“Nomura is quiet. Controlled. But this boy? He’s unpredictable.”

Carlisle smirked. “That’s why we delayed his deposition as long as possible. He’s confided in Haas. She assures me she’ll take care of it. Sometimes you need a sledgehammer. This time, a scalpel blade. Nomura and Deetan will both be neutralized.”

Hartman’s lips curled. “Good. We’re building something big here. No loose ends.”

By Monday, the trial was set to begin at the Ladue County Courthouse. The plaintiff’s team dropped their demand to $110,000. Behind closed doors, Moynihan pressed Nomura.

“It’s a fair deal.”

Nomura’s eyebrow twitched violently. “Fair? You’ve made me the fall guy. No one has proved this was my error, but you’d rather settle than fight.”

“Dr. Nomura—”

“Don’t patronize me.” His voice was flat, the voice of a man extinguishing hope. “Make the deal.”

At 2 p.m., the signatures were inked. Goldstein took $85,000 for the plaintiff. Puritan Insurance, Moynihan in tow, put up $25,000 in Nomura’s name. It was finished.

The news swept through Memorial’s pathology department and ULS like wildfire. James pounded on Nomura’s locked office door—no answer. He turned and found the residents’ room full: Dan, Carlos, Deanna, Franklin, Wilma.

“You all heard?”

“Who hasn’t?” Carlos barked.

“I can’t believe they couldn’t sort this out,” Carlos added. “That IT guy—what’s his name?”

“Jake Thompson,” James said quietly.

“Yeah. He told me it had to be a software glitch.”

“What?” Dan snapped. “He told me it was a transcription error.”

“And the attorneys blamed Nomura!” Deanna’s voice was sharp. “So we still don’t know what really happened.”

The silence was suffocating.

“Dr. Deetan, how are you holding up?” Wilma’s voice was gentle. She touched James’ arm.

“I’m hanging in,” he managed.

“I’ll make you a pecan pie.” She smiled, stepping closer.

Deanna hesitated, then spoke. “Wil—”

“Deanna,” Wilma said softly. Not Doctor. Not Berkowitz. Deanna. The word was stripped bare of rivalry, spoken woman to woman.

Before Deanna could answer, Wilma turned back toward the resident room, leaving the air heavy with a truce neither had expected.

James embraced Deanna, jasmine drowning out the scent of Wilma’s perfume.

“Watching each other’s back,” Franklin whispered. Carlos met his eyes and nodded, then looked at Dan. Their unspoken exchange lingered in the air, heavy with secrets.

The settlement was signed, but nothing was settled.

Next Chapter: Chapter 35-No One Knows