“Thank you.” She wipes her eyes again. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this. I thought I was past the worst of it, but it still creeps up on me, you know? From time to time.”
I nod. “Trauma always resurfaces when you least expect it. Triggers hide in everyday things, waiting to ambush you.”
I would know.
“Come back to the penthouse?” I ask. “Let me take care of you.”
She nods. “Yeah. Okay.”
I help her gather her things. Walk her to the elevator with my hand on the small of her back. Text my driver that we’re coming down.
The drive to Tribeca is quiet. Bree curls into my side, exhausted from the emotional purge. By the time we reach the penthouse, she’s half asleep.
I get her upstairs. Into bed. Hold her until her breathing evens out and I’m certain she’s actuallyunconscious.
Then I slip out of the bedroom and close the door quietly behind me.
In my home office, I pull out my phone.
The first call is to Larissa Koh, my General Counsel.
She answers on the second ring despite the weekend hour. “Nico? Everything okay?”
“I need you to find me a firm that specializes in institutional misconduct investigations. Universities. Title Nine violations. Patterns of harassment. The best. Money is no object.”
A pause. “May I ask what this is regarding?”
“Not yet,” I grit out. “I’ll brief you tomorrow. Just find me the firm tonight.”
“Understood.”
The second call is to Callahan, who’s probably still in the parking garage with Indira. “Sir?”
“I need a background check. Dr. Lawrence Kendrick. Professor at Columbia University, Communications and Nonprofit Management program. Everything you can find. Quietly.”
Another pause. “Timeframe?”
“Yesterday,” I growl.
“Understood, sir.”
I hang up and stand at my office window, looking out at Manhattan spread below. All those tiny lights. All those tiny lives.
Somewhere in this city, that fucker Kendrick is sleeping soundly in his bed. Secure in his tenure. Protected by an institution that’s decided his reputation matters more than the women he’s destroyed.
He has no idea what’s coming.
No fucking idea.
When I was fifteen, men broke into my home and left me scarred for life. I was alone. No one stoppedthem. No one ever found them. I’ve spent sixteen years unable to go back and change what happened to me.
But Icanstop this fucker.
And I will.
He’s never going to harm Bree, or anyone else, again.
31
