Page 88 of Hate You More

I asked her if she was okay. A stupid question, in hindsight, even if I so wanted her to say yes. For her to say she was suffering from hay fever or a cold or something. I’m not a perfect person by any stretch of the imagination, but I am human. And she was crying, so I took her hand.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice soft. Careful, I suppose.

She shook her head and brought the back of her hand to her nose. Her left wrist was red, and she was shaking so badly. “He said if I tell anyone, I’m finished.” Her watery eyes lifted to mine. “That no one would believe me.”

Maybe I should’ve insisted she call the police. Instead, I called a cab, and I took her home. Because I know what it’s like to be frightened by a man.

But not anymore.

“It’s a civil suit.” Dad’s voice makes me jump in my seat. “The woman is after money.”

“She’s after payback,” I correct. It’s her flag in the ground. Her attempt at taking back her power, her self-worth. She’s sticking it to the man who made her feel all kinds of less than.

“You said it yourself, you didn’t see anything.” He gives a flourish of his hand. “Drum wasn’t even in the building.”

“I saw what I saw, Dad.”

His eyes narrow, and his jaw works like it does when he’s angry. “You should know better than anyone how dangerous it is to misinterpret attention-seeking behaviors as victimhood.”

That sword above my head moves swiftly, piercing my chest. Tears sting, and my lip hurts under the press of my teeth. But I will not cry, and I will not bend, and I will not let him ruin another life with me as his instrument.

“You’re going to fix this,” he insists, his voice steely.

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re going to amend your statement.” His answer rolls over mine as though I haven’t spoken.

“I said no.”

“You’re going to stress that you did not witness anything inappropriate. You will restate that you merely found the woman in distress—”

“Her name is Chloe.”

“—a woman you know to be emotional from your time working with her here.”

“That’s not true.”

“There are members of staff in this office that would say otherwise.”

“Then get them to lie.” Under the cover of my desk, I ball my hands tight, my fingernails piercing my palms. “But you won’t, because that would be a risk for you.”

“Drum is like family. You owe him your loyalty.”

“I don’t owe him my lies.”

Malice licks over my father’s face. “Oh, but you’ll lie to cover your own mistakes, won’t you?” His words land like the slap. “Everyone makes mistakes, Clara.”

“True. But we should also pay for them.”

“This is not up for discussion.” He steps away from the door, and my heart rate spikes, my eyes darting to my only way out.

Could I make it? Should I even try? I could take another slap, I decide in that moment. In some ways, it would be easier than suffering his contempt.

“You will revise your statement. You will say she never indicated distress, that there was no reason to believe Drum had been there, let alone that he might be responsible for any form of misconduct.”

Misconduct. I shake my head, literally lost for words. But then I find them again, with a hardness that surprises me. “He abused his position—he abused Chloe. You get that, don’t you? He touched her—sexually assaulted her.”

“Everything you have, Clara. The apartment you live in, the money you spend, this job, it’s all down to me.”