Another girl cuts in. "Oh, sweetheart. Don't lie. You sent me the same messages you sent her." She points to the woman beside her. "And her." She points again. "And her mother."
"I never messaged?—"
"She's right here, genius," Mia snaps.
A woman in her forties lifts her wine glass. "Hi."
Tom looks pale.
I sit back and watch him squirm. It's petty. It's delicious. A mix of both.
One woman flips open a folder. "I printed everything," she says. "Even the love poem you sent me. The one you copied from Google."
Someone snorts.
Mia holds up her phone. "I brought the one where he said he wanted to marry me. You remember this, Tom? You said you loved how smart and mature I was. You said you respected me. You said I was your soulmate."
Tom swallows. "We were just… I didn't mean?—"
"And then you disappeared for six days," Mia says. "Six. And when you came back, you pretended nothing happened."
The forty-something woman tilts her head. "He ghosted me for my birthday. Do you know how low that bar is? My ex-husband remembered my birthday and he once forgot our anniversary."
Half the table claps.
Tom tries to stand. "I think we should take this outside?—"
Gabe appears behind him again like he teleported. "Sit down."
Tom sits so fast his chair squeaks.
Now every eye is on Gabe. He doesn't raise his voice, doesn't posture, just places both hands on the back of Tom's chair.
"I'll make this simple," Gabe says. "These women have enough material to bury you socially for the next five years. I have enough to bury you legally for longer."
Tom's throat clicks. "I—I didn't do anything illegal."
Gabe lifts one brow. "You ran a paid background check on a woman without her consent. You accessed her school directory using work credentials. You contacted a minor. You sent her DMs."
Tom turns even paler. "That's not— I didn't?—"
"You followed her online," Gabe continues. "Tracked her father. Tracked her ex. Tracked the school. Stored the information. Do you want me to keep going?"
A girl at the end of the table lifts her hand. "He sent me a picture of a hotel room key and told me to ‘be grown.' I was seventeen at the time."
Tom almost faints.
Another girl adds, "He told me he was single. Even though he was dating her." She gestures to a woman two seats away.
That woman raises her drink. "Sup."
Tom lifts both hands in some desperate surrender. "Okay, okay, can we just—can we calm down?"
"No," Mia says flatly. "We've been calm for long enough."
The forty-something woman taps her glass. "Now we talk punishment."
Tom squeaks. "Punishment?"
