“Did you tell him Nia has video?”
“No.”
“Don’t.”
Mei went quiet.
“You think he’s covering for Damien?”
“I think I don’t know yet.”
Tasha had spent too many years in emergency medicine to confuse suspicion with evidence. Facts first. Always facts first.
“Send me exactly what Ben told you,” she said. “In writing if you have it.”
“I will.”
Tasha ended the call and looked at Nia.
Our daughter raised one eyebrow.
“The cameras magically broke?”
Tasha gave her a tired smile.
“You really do listen to everything.”
“It’s my best quality.”
“Debatable.”
Nia stood and carried her bowl to the sink.
“So what now?”
Tasha picked up her phone.
“Now I call Ben.”
He answered on the first ring.
“Tasha. Thank God. How are you?”
“Bruised.”
“I’m so sorry. I should have been watching.”
“Yes.”
The blunt answer stopped him.
“I know,” he said quietly.
Tasha did not rescue him from the silence.
Ben continued.
“I suspended Damien. I told him not to contact you. I’m collecting statements. I want to handle this properly.”
“Mei says your cameras weren’t recording.”
Another pause.
“There was a problem with the storage system.”
“Since when?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Who is?”
“I need to talk to Leonard. He does some of the building systems.”
Tasha looked toward the kitchen.
Nia stood perfectly still, pretending not to listen.
“Ben, did you know Damien had a problem releasing submissions?”
“A problem? No.”
“Did anyone ever complain about him going too hard?”
Ben exhaled through his nose.
“People complain about hard rounds all the time.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Tasha, I don’t want to minimize what happened.”
“Then don’t.”
Her throat hurt, but she kept going.
“Did anyone tell you Damien ignored taps or used unnecessary force with beginners?”
The silence lasted too long.
“There were concerns,” Ben finally said.
Tasha closed her eyes.
“How many?”
“Not formal complaints.”
“How many?”
“A few conversations.”
“How many, Ben?”
“Three that I can remember.”
Nia’s expression hardened.
Tasha stared at the floor.
“Three before me.”
“They weren’t like last night.”
“How do you know?”
“Nobody was injured.”
“That isn’t the standard.”
Ben did not answer.
Tasha could hear activity in the background at the gym. Voices. A door opening. Someone dragging a bench.
Normal Saturday morning sounds.
The place had already resumed its routine.
“I told him to lighten up,” Ben said. “More than once.”
“And he didn’t.”
“I thought I could manage him.”
“You couldn’t.”
“I know that now.”
Tasha rubbed her forehead.
“No, Ben. You knew it every time someone warned you and you decided the warning wasn’t serious enough to cost you anything.”
His voice sharpened.
“That’s not fair.”
“Maybe not.”
Tasha looked at the bruise reflected faintly in the dark television screen.
“But it’s true.”
Ben lowered his voice.
“What do you want me to do?”
For a moment, Tasha almost answered with anger.
Fire him.
Apologize publicly.
Refund everyone.
Burn the place down and start over.
But she knew the danger of giving a person in authority a simple task and allowing them to call the problem solved.
“I want the truth,” she said. “I want you to preserve every record you have from last night. I want written statements from witnesses. I want to know what happened to the camera system. And I want you to stop calling this a misunderstanding.”
“I haven’t called it that.”
“Damien has. You repeated his version to Mei.”
Ben sighed.
“I have to hear both sides.”
“You can hear both sides without pretending both sides explain the video.”
The word slipped out before she meant to say it.
Video.
Ben went silent.
Tasha saw Nia’s eyes widen.
“What video?” Ben asked.
Tasha considered lying.
She decided against it.
“Nia recorded part of the round.”
“Can you send it to me?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because I want the gym’s records preserved before everyone knows exactly what evidence I have.”
Ben’s breathing changed.
Not guilt, necessarily.
Pressure.
“Tasha, I am not trying to hide anything.”
“Then preserving records should be easy.”
Another silence.
“I’ll call you later,” he said.
“Email me.”
She ended the call.
Nia stared at her.
“That was terrifying.”
Tasha looked over.
“What was?”
“Your hospital-manager voice.”
“I don’t have a hospital-manager voice.”
“You absolutely do.”
Nia mimicked her. “Then preserving records should be easy.”
Tasha tried to laugh and immediately regretted it when pain caught in her throat.
“Don’t make me laugh.”
“Sorry.”
“You’re not.”
“Not even a little.”
The humor lasted only a moment.
Then Nia sat beside her.
“Are you going to sue them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you going to call the police?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you know?”
Tasha thought about that.