Chapter 2

The air in the office solidified.

Everyone stared at their screens, watching messages vanish like dominoes in a frantic cascade.

Brad's fingers hammered at his keyboard, sweat beading on his forehead.

I glanced at my watch. Two minutes.

I stood and walked straight toward Brad's desk. This time, no one dared meet my eyes.

Brad's expression shifted. He jerked upright in his chair.

"Are you crazy? I told you it was just a joke! You're an intern threatening to sue me?"

"One minute left."

I looked at him without expression. "What you just did touches on electronic harassment, defamation, distribution of fabricated sexual content, and it triggers a mandatory workplace sexual harassment investigation. You've also damaged the reputation of Apex Capital's top-tier client.

"What do you think happens when the police show up to seize your hard drive? Does Richard skin you alive first, or does the firm throw you under the bus?"

The color drained from Brad's face. Cold sweat broke across his forehead instantly.

He looked around frantically, searching for backup, but the colleagues who'd been egging him on in the chat now stared at their desks, terrified of becoming collateral damage.

"You... you can't scare me with legal threats!" Brad's voice wavered.

"Thirty seconds." I pulled out my phone and opened the keypad to 911, my finger hovering over the green call button.

"Okay! Okay!" Brad shot to his feet, his composure shattered. "I didn't take the photo! Someone sent it to my personal email anonymously! I just thought it was funny and shared it in the group!"

"Good." I held his gaze and stopped the voice recorder on my phone, flashing the screen in front of him. "I have that on tape. Forward that anonymous email to me. Now."

Brad's hand shook so badly he could barely grip the mouse, but he complied. Thirty seconds later, my inbox chimed.

---

At three p.m., I was summoned to HR Director David's office.

David was the archetypal Wall Street middle-management politician—suit immaculate, smile empty.

He sat behind his oversized mahogany desk, fingers interlaced, studying me with an expression meant to convey disappointment but landing squarely on intimidation.

"Harper, sit." He gestured to the chair across from him. "I've been briefed on what happened in the Slack channel this afternoon. Brad's behavior was... unfortunate. I've given him a verbal warning."

"A verbal warning?"

I didn't sit. I looked at him coldly. "He posted a fabricated pornographic image in a company-wide channel with two hundred people, accusing me of illegal dealings with a client. And the company's response is a verbal warning?"

David's brow furrowed, clearly displeased by my tone.

"Harper, you need to think about the bigger picture." He shifted to a patronizing register. "You're a smart girl. You understand how important Apex's reputation is.

"If this escalates—if police get involved—it embarrasses Richard. It damages the firm." He leaned back, folding his hands.

"And honestly, you know how this business works. If you'd given people less to talk about, less to point fingers at, would you even be in this position?"

Victim blaming.

In my previous life, these exact words had shattered my defenses and plunged me into endless self-doubt and paralysis.

Now, I found them absurd.

Instead of responding, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the voice recorder I'd kept running since I entered. I set it gently on his desk.

The soft click echoed in the quiet room.

David's face darkened. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Documenting." I met his eyes. "How Apex Capital's HR Director covers up sexual harassment and blames the victim."

I held up my phone, showing him a draft email. The recipient line displayed three financial news outlets. The subject read:

Apex Capital Enables Employee to Fabricate Sexual Smear Against Client; HR Pressures Victim Into Silence

"I can send this anytime," I said. "You have two choices. One: formally launch an investigation into Brad and create a paper trail. Two: keep protecting him and wait to make headlines."

David shot to his feet, jabbing his finger toward me. "You dare threaten me?! You're an intern. You don't even have a return offer!"

"Try me."

I pocketed the recorder and turned toward the door. "By the way, I've already filed a police report. NYPD officers will be here in an hour to seize Brad's computer.

"If you touch that hard drive in the meantime, that's obstruction of justice."

I ignored his sputtering curses and walked out.

Back at my desk, I immediately made a call.

"Elena, it's Harper."

The voice on the other end was crisp and low.

Elena Ross. Senior partner in Apex's litigation department. One of the most feared women on Wall Street.

In my past life, she'd tried to help me. But I'd been too weak, too afraid. I'd let the chance slip away.

Not this time.

"I saw the screen recordings and photos you sent." Elena's voice carried a thread of cold approval. "Well done. You didn't fall into the self-defense trap. The photo's a deepfake—crude work. I've already brought in an independent forensic team."

"I have the anonymous email Brad received." I typed as I spoke. My undergrad double major included cybersecurity; basic email tracing wasn't beyond me.

"It was sent through ProtonMail. I extracted the source IP from the header. It bounced through three VPN relays before terminating at a luxury apartment building on the Upper East Side."

"Upper East Side?" Elena's laugh was sharp. "Jessica's family owns property in that neighborhood."

"That's not all."

I opened a hidden folder on my laptop. "I've also pulled three months of surveillance footage from the break room and copy room showing Brad's verbal harassment and physical blocking. The timeline's already compiled."

"Perfect. Don't defend yourself. Nail down the source, the chain, and the damages. That's it." Elena paused. "They'll escalate when they see you haven't cracked. Protect yourself. Keep gathering evidence. I'll personally attend Friday's Town Hall Meeting."

I ended the call and stared at the IP trace still running on my screen. My expression hardened.

Jessica. You want to play games?

Fine. Let's see whose hand is actually stronger.