In the end, the “book that never was” became a metaphor for Andrew himself: all arrogance, no accountability. His silence wasn’t noble restraint—it was self-preservation. Every ghostwriter and PR advisor who came near the project realized what Andrew never could—that the public isn’t interested in his justifications, only in justice. He had a chance to come clean, to face the truth on paper the way he refused to on camera, but instead retreated into the royal cocoon that has always shielded him from consequence. His non-memoir stands as yet another failure in a long pattern of cowardice—an unspoken admission that the truth, once written, would have destroyed him far more than any interviewer ever could.
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