“She says Thompson and three other men raped her—following his orders. She also claims his entourage stood by, some even assisting in the assault. Afterward, they simply carried on drinking and smoking, as if nothing had happened. And even though she was drugged, the effects eventually wore off, leaving the details of that night seared into her memory, impossible to forget. She reported it. The police took a statement. But she claims the case was never investigated—she believes Thompson paid them off. The department, however, issued this statement, and I quote: A report was filed on March 19, 2020. We take these allegations seriously and conducted a thorough investigation, but the claims were determined to be unfounded. Which brings us to today. Months after submitting an explicit and exhaustively detailed court filing, Ashley Roberts has decided to go on national television. She asked us to conceal her face. She asked to be accompanied by her attorney, Rita Mishell. Here is our conversation.”
The second I hear her voice, I know.
A shiver runs down my spine.
Ashley.
She must have gotten married since we last spoke, but I’d recognize her voice anywhere.
A friend from years ago—one who suddenly stopped hanging out with me, no explanation.
And now I understand why.
She tried to protect me. She stood up to my stepfather, called him the monster he was. And in the end, she was the one who got hurt.
A wave of nausea rises, a sick, gut-churning horror that wraps itself around my ribs like a vice. The shame, the disgust—it slamsinto me all over again, just like it always did after Richard had sex with me.
I blink and suddenly Nick is in front of me, kneeling, his hands gripping mine.
“Princess,” he says carefully. “Are you okay? You shouldn’t watch this. I don’t think it’s good for you.”
“I need to hear her story.”
“Why?”
“Because…” My voice catches. “She was my friend.”
Nick’s eyes widen, shock evident on his face.
“I want to hear the truth,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “The truth about the man I hope to God rots in hell.”
“Oh, he will,” Sophia mutters, her jaw tight. “Mark my words, it’s only a matter of time before that scumbag gets thrown in jail.”
My mom fought for this.
She spoke to every survivor she could find, encouraged them to come forward. She wanted to sue him herself, but she was terrified—afraid of what he’d do to her if she tried.
But the voices grew louder.
More and more women came forward.
And now, even the FBI is watching. Rumors of human trafficking, racketeering—whispers that my stepfather’s crimes go far beyond what anyone imagined.
“And when that day comes,” Sophia says, high-fiving the air, “we are throwing a fucking party.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” I murmur. “Thompson is a powerful man. Who knows what he can do with his money? He could pay off the judge, just like he’s done before.”
Nick squeezes my hand. “I’ve seen a lot of injustice in my life,” he says, his voice steady. “But I also know that whatever’s done in the dark always comes to light. Justice will be served. He’ll get what he deserves.”
I want to believe him.
I really do.
But Richard Thompson has spent his whole life getting away with things like this.
With me.
With my mom.
