Page 142 of Nine Months to Bear
“There are photos,” Rebecca continues. “Very cozy shots of Dr. Aster with Stefan Safonov. You know who he is, don’t you, Jonathan?”
“I’ve heard the name,” he mumbles.
“Russian mobster.” Rebecca lets that sink in. “Money laundering, racketeering, murder. And according to this article, he’s been extremely generous with Dr. Aster’s clinic. In exchange for certain… personal services.”
Camille shoots to her feet. “That’s slander!”
“Oh?” Rebecca’s eyes never leave mine. “The photos are quite damning. His hand on her waist. Her looking up at him like—well, like a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.”
I can’t speak. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but watch my professional life implode.
Jonathan clears his throat as he drags his eyes up to mine. “Dr. Aster, these are serious allegations.”
“They’re lies,” I whimper.
“The photos aren’t,” Rebecca chimes in. “Neither is the fact that Safonov Holdings made a substantial donation to your clinic recently. Public record.”
One of the assistants whispers something to Jonathan. His expression shifts from concern to disgust.
“I think we need to table this discussion.” He stands, his Target sneakers squeaking against the floor. “My team will be in touch.”
They won’t be. We all know it.
“Jonathan, wait—” I start to follow him.
“Dr. Aster,” he says, not unkindly, “given the circumstances, I think it’s best we maintain distance. Madison Pharmaceuticals can’t be associated with this kind of scandal.”
Just like that, he leaves.
Or tries to.
But he doesn’t get far.
“Going so soon?”
Stefan’s voice makes statues out of everyone in the room. He stands in the doorway, blocking Jonathan’s exit, dressed in a dark gray suit that makes him look less like a criminal and more like a Fortune 500 CEO.
Jonathan freezes. His assistants cluster behind him like frightened birds.
“Mr. Safonov,” Jonathan says cautiously.
“Mr. Madison.” Stefan steps into the room, and suddenly, it feels too small. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d come say hello. I couldn’t help but overhear Dr. Walsh’s creative interpretation of recent events.”
Rebecca’s smug sneer falters. “Stefan. What a surprise.”
“Is it?” He doesn’t look at her. His eyes are on me, checking for damage. “You seem to know quite a bit about my business dealings, Rebecca. One might wonder how.”
“Public record?—”
“Shut up.”
The words are quiet, but Rebecca’s mouth snaps closed like Stefan just stapled it shut himself.
Stefan turns to Jonathan. “Let me clarify a few things. Yes, I’ve invested in Aster Fertility Solutions. Substantially. Not because Dr. Aster is providing ‘personal services,’ but because she’s the best fertility specialist in Boston.”
“That’s not what the article—” one of the assistants starts.
“The article is garbage written by a hack with an agenda.” Stefan’s gaze slides to Rebecca. “Probably paid for by a competitor who can’t match Dr. Aster’s success rates.”
