Page 96 of Ugly Truths
His knuckles whiten and, just as quickly as the anger rises, it disappears. Smothered under his usual cold, calculated exterior.
“And let me guess,” he says finally, “you’re going to save the day by confronting me over lunch? How noble.”
Natalie leans back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m here to tell you that it’s over. You’re done.”
William’s lips curl into a humorless smile. “This isn’t a game, Natalie. You’re out of your depth.”
The inside of my cheek is raw from holding back.
Natalie needs this. He’s walked over her, all with claims of protecting her. She maintained our family bond for Mom and Davey, but whatever remnants of love she’s forced herself to feel for him are withering by the second.
“You’ve been out of your depth for years,” she counters, pointing to the papers still in his clutches. “You think you can brush this under the rug? This—” she gestures to the stack of documents between them, “—this isn’t just a mistake. This is unforgivable.”
William’s smile falters. “Unforgivable,” he repeats. “Do you have any idea what you’re talking about? Or are you just parroting whatever Silas has told you?”
My hands curl into fists. Natalie shakes her head, leaning forward now.
“No,” she says firmly. “This isn’t about Silas. This is aboutyou. You’ve jeopardized the company and ruined our family name. For what?” She slaps her hand down on the stack of papers between them.
His face contorts, the paper still in his hands crumpling under his curling fingers.
“You have no idea what it takes to build something like this,” he snaps, tossing the documents next to his half-eaten grilled chicken. “Do you think this company runs on goodwill and wishful thinking? That our advancements come from playing by the rules? Some of our greatest achievements are because of those trials.”
The laugh Natalie huff's out is strangled. “You’re actually defending this.”
“You can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.” William's eyes flash with something between anger and conviction. “That’s the reality of this business. Of this world. The treatments we’ve developed outweigh the cost.”
My sister’s lips pull into a tight line. She extracts two more thick files and lays them on the table, open. Her fingers graze the pages before she angles it toward him.
“This,” she says, her voice clipped, “is a trial conducted on undocumented workers for an Alzheimer’s drug.” She flips to a page marked with a neon sticky tab, pointing to a section of text. “Seizures. Psychosis. Permanent neurological damage. Paralysis.”
William’s gaze barely flickers over the page. “There are always risks in the pursuit of progress.”
She opens the second file with a sharp motion, flipping to another section marked in bold. “And this one? Cancer drug testing on incarcerated women. A 42-year-old woman who had already survived breast cancer volunteered for your trial, likely because it was her only option for better medical care.” Her voice grows tighter, colder. “She developed severe organ failure and was denied treatment because, according to the report, her condition was a ‘necessary endpoint.’” She blinks the sheen away from her eyes as quickly as it settles.
Our father leans back in his chair and exhales as though he’s bored with this line of questioning. “Every failure gets us closer to the right answer,” he reasons.
Natalie looks as though she’s physically holding herself back. “Those are not failures. Those arepeople. People who felt they had no choice and no way to advocate for themselves when they were either forced or coerced into what they thought were legitimate pharmaceutical trials with zero compensation.”
William shrugs, the gesture so casual it makes my stomach churn. “You’re letting emotion cloud your judgment,” he says with maddening calm. “These people have laid the foundation for some of the greatest advancements this company has ever seen. Advancements that you and Silas have benefited from.”
The room falls silent, and while I can see the confusion still swirling in my sister’s eyes, I’ve never seen William more clearly.
It doesn’t matter what information we show him or how his decisions have harmed thousands. All he sees is progress and his stupid fucking legacy. When Natalie presents our offer, he’s going to say no.
Nausea churns.
This is where it comes from. The part of me that revels in control, that thrives in the darker, uglier corners of this world.
Is this what I’ll eventually become?
Natalie’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I’m not sure how long I’ve been lost in my own head. It sounds like they’ve been talking in circles, her calm unraveling with everyresponse he gives.
Finally, she cuts off his latest comment about the trials’ benefits. “How do you not feel anything about this?” she demands. “How do you not feel a goddamn thing?”
His expression is almost amused. “Because, my beautiful daughter,” he says, his voice condescending, “this isn’t about feelings. I knew at a very young age you had too big a heart for this line of work. It turns out I was right.”
Disgust floods her face, her hands gripping the edge of the tablecloth like she might rip it apart.
