Weinstein wheedled and menaced and bullied and didn’t take no for an answer. But more than that, it was a smoking gun. It was inarguable. There he was, admitting not just to a crime but to a pattern. “I’m used to that.” “Ambra,” I said, slipping off the headphones. “We need to make this public.” I produced a USB drive from my pocket and slid it toward her across the countertop. “I can’t tell you what to do,” I said. “The decision is yours.” “I know that,” she replied. She closed her eyes, seemed to sway for a moment. “I will,” she said. “But not yet.”
