“Please don’t mention my name. It’s a small world. I don’t want to burn any bridges.”
“I’ll be totally discreet.”
“I’ll text it to you.”
“Thanks, Chloe.”
“Of course. Guys like Drew Marshall are so toxic. Women should be able to go to an event or to work without being groped and harassed.”
“Exactly. That’s why he has to be stopped.”
Moments after we hang up, the text with Britt Adams’ number comes through. This could be nothing—but it’s a clue, and right now, I’ll take whatever I can get.
That lead turns into a week of frustrating attempts until Britt finally agrees to meet me. In the meantime, I’ve barely spoken to my father, endured my mother’s relentless dinner invitations, and eventually conceded to a date. I’ve also had an introductory phone session with a therapist.
Dr. Marian Khan is no-nonsense but sensitive, and while I know it can take time to find the right fit, I’m willing to give her a shot. She surprised me by praising my coping strategies. I’d half-expected her to say they were unhealthy crutches and that I should start weaning off my stress ball. A part of me feared judgment, but instead, she told me to keep doing what works and that we’d figure out what I wanted to get out of therapy as we went. A bonus is that she offers virtual sessions, so I can continue even after I return to Bayside.
I miss Chaz so much that it’s a physical ache. Sophia told me he’s struggling too, but hearing he’s also decided to try therapy makes me happy.
On the work front, Drew has stopped pestering me about damage control, thanks to my assurances that it’s all been handled. He’s too smug to question how. My father doesn’t careto hear about problems. His motto is a twisted version of Nike’s slogan—Just fix it!
Frank and Don are suspicious about how I made the man who stormed into the boardroom disappear, but they know better than to push me when I say it’s done. Being the boss’s daughter has its privileges. So far, no one knows what I’m really doing.
“Just ten minutes,” I pleaded over the phone with Britt. “Hear me out. If you still don’t want to talk after that, I’ll respect your decision.”
I used my name, Lexie Monroe, to protect my Townsen cover. It would mean nothing to her.
Now, at 5:30 on Tuesday—a week after leaving Bayside—I walk into a dimly lit bar in Kensington Village. I’d looked her up online earlier, so I recognize the brunette immediately. Though, the nervous wringing of her hands would’ve given her away.
Britt orders a club soda, and I get a ginger ale to settle my stomach. The thought that she might not show had been making me queasy all afternoon.
“I don’t see how I can help you,” she says as soon as I sit down. “I haven’t worked with Drew in over a year. I’ve moved on. I like where I am, and I don’t want to ruin a good thing by getting involved in whatever this is.” Her words are firm, but her darting eyes and jittery movements betray her nerves.
“I’m not trying to ruin anything for you. I promise. But this is important. A friend of mine was hurt by Drew Marshall, and I’m trying to help her. I know this is a big ask, but even a small piece of information could make a difference. I can leave your name out of it.”
There’s a heavy pause. “Hurt her how?”
The protocol requires me to get her account first, but desperate times and all that. “Marshall assaulted her,” I say, squarely meeting her gaze. “He lured her to a room underfalse pretenses, kissed and touched her, demanded sex, and threatened to ruin her if she didn’t comply.”
She doesn’t show any sign of surprise, just more nervous energy, her knee bouncing beneath the table.
“I know there are others. If you signed an NDA and are worried about the legal implications, don’t be. It’s meaningless when it comes to protecting him from a crime. It’s just a scare tactic. Please, Britt, if you know anything—anything at all—help me stop him from doing this to another woman.”
She lowers her gaze, tracing lines in the condensation on the glass. I hold my breath, tapping my fingers against my thumb, waiting.
Finally, she looks up. “I’ll tell you what I can,” she says quietly, still unsure. “But you have to promise to keep my name out of it.”
Relief floods me. “You have my word.”
I’d spent days uncovering the depths of Marshall’s crimes. Britt shared what she’d witnessed at his parties. The gatherings were labeled as “work events,” even though alcohol was served in generous quantities, and NDAs ensured no one talked about anything that happened afterward. While she wasn’t one of Marshall’s victims, she’d observed Laurel “handling” specific guests and selecting which women would be invited to join Drew in his private quarters. These patternsof behavior could only be described as blatant harassment, misconduct, and abuse of power. Their actions were abhorrent.
Britt gave me the names of three women she thought might have been victims of Marshal’s misdeeds but doubted they would talk to me. She was right. The fear this man and Laurel instilled in these women to keep silent was heartbreaking. One woman refused. She told me never to call her again and hung up. The others—Amie and Siobhan—required much coaxing. With assurances that I would protect their anonymity, they confided their stories with tears and humiliation.
They describedhaving sex with Marshall on more than one occasion for fear of losing their jobs. Because they received money and opportunities as promised, they thought that made it consensual. I explained that it didn’t matter how they may have benefited. It could not have been consensual as there was an imbalance of power, and threats had been made. That’s what he preyed on, their fear and their shame afterward.
By the time Sunday dinner rolled around, I had lined up all my facts to present to my father. This was too much for even him to ignore. He would hate what I’d done, but he’d be compelled to act. I wouldn’t give him a choice.
That evening, I’m let into the house I grew up in by a new housekeeper. My mother fires them as quickly as they’re hired, always finding some fault. The towering ceilings and cold marble floors are as familiar as they are suffocating. But I’m fueled by my resolve and the stories from Sophia, Amie, and Siobhan.
