The Truth About Unspeakable Things by Emily A. Myers

Author:Emily A. Myers [Myers, Emily A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-04-05T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

I was a client of Beaux’s. I sought him out when I caught wind of the District Attorney’s plans to charge me with corporate espionage. This was two years ago. Beaux said he’d be able to get me a plea deal with no jail time. There was just one thing I had to do for him. Beaux coerced me into having sex with him in exchange for my freedom. I’m not sure if you consider that rape. I suppose you could say it was a small price to pay in comparison to twenty years in prison. But . . . what I did, what I allowed him to blackmail me into doing, was worse than a prison sentence would have been. He destroyed me emotionally. I lost all respect for myself. I lost confidence in my abilities to run my company. I tried telling myself I was in control and that it was worth it. It wasn’t. That’s why I’m speaking up now, even though doing so will ruin whatever reputation I have left. —Marie Holt

Mr. Thomas and I met when I worked as a temporary assistant for another attorney at his law firm. I was twenty at the time, and I hoped to one day be a lawyer. I worked at Shaw Peterson for three months. During this time, I was able to sit in on meetings, use the company break room and gym. I had access to most areas, and it was there that Beaux made his advances. It started off as comments about my appearance. “You look nice today” progressed to things like, “I like that skirt on you” and “That shirt would look better if you just undid one more button.” At first, I admit I liked the attention. He was handsome, in my chosen profession, and respected by his peers. When he offered to give me some career advice over dinner, I thought, why not? But it wasn’t long into our date that I realized his career advice came at a price, one I wasn’t willing to pay. He rubbed my leg underneath the table. I told him to stop, but I guess I wasn’t firm enough. The higher his hand moved up my skirt, the more uncomfortable I felt. I tried not to make a scene, but I had to tell him to stop once more. His face got really red and I could tell he was angry, which only made me feel even more embarrassed. Beaux got the check, and we left. We’d ridden in his car and even though I insisted on getting myself a cab, he assured me it was okay and that he would drive me home. In an effort to salvage a possible work relationship, I accepted the ride. He raped me inside his car, right outside my house. I . . . I never went back to Shaw Peterson, and I never became a lawyer. He ruined that for me. —Samantha Carson

I met Beaux when we were in college.

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