Page 26 of Psychotic Faith
"Nonsense. Investing in young talent is how we change the world. Why don't you come by my office next week? We can discuss your future in a more… intimate setting."
My hands shake as I pretend to organize books, watching him position himself closer to Janine, watching her lean into his attention, completely unaware she's being groomed by someone who collects young women like trophies.
"I'll have my assistant call you," he says, finally releasing her shoulder but leaving his hand hovering near her back. "We'll set up something private. Just us."
"That sounds perfect, Mr.Neumann."
He finally acknowledges me again, that practiced smile never wavering. "Ms.Winters, you've trained an excellent volunteer. I'm sure you'll miss her when she moves on to bigger things."
The threat in his words is subtle but clear: don't interfere.
After he leaves, Janine practically floats through the rest of training, unable to focus on anything except her amazing opportunity. The retirees congratulate her. I bite my tongue until it bleeds.
I catch Janine before she leaves, my hand on her arm perhaps too tight.
"About Mr.Neumann's offer," I say carefully. "Please be careful."
Her face shifts to confusion. "Why? It's an incredible opportunity."
"Just… make sure you're never alone with him."
"That's weird advice, Faith. He said one-on-one mentoring."
"Bring a friend. Meet in public places. Please."
She pulls her arm free, looking at me like I've grown a second head. "Are you feeling okay? You're being really paranoid."
"I'm trying to protect—"
"From what? He's a respected businessman. A philanthropist. My parents will be so proud when I tell them." She backs toward the door. "Maybe you should take the afternoon off. You seem stressed."
And then she's gone, taking her innocence and trust with her. I've failed. The warning sounded insane. How do you say "he killed my mother" without proof, without sounding deranged?
Three days pass. Three days of watching Janine glow about her upcoming opportunity. Three days of failed attempts to warn her. Three days of nightmares about history repeating.
Nine PM finds me at my laptop, digging through records I've already memorized. Neumann Pharmaceuticals' internship program. Three victims in five years, all following the same pattern of silence. Lola Nguyen, hired January, gone by July. Filed a harassment complaint that got retracted within forty-eight hours. Now she works in Seattle, won't return calls, won't talk to reporters.
Jennifer Park. Six months at the company, then complete silence. A gap in her employment history that screams trauma. When she resurfaces, she's in therapy, working retail.
Amanda Phillips. The worst one. Bright, ambitious, looked a little like my mother in her company photo. She lasted three months before the suicide attempt. The hospital records are sealed, but I've pieced together the pattern. He coerces them, breaks them, ensures their silence with NDAs and threats. Threevictims who learned that speaking up costs more than staying quiet.
My mother was the only one who fought back hard enough to die for it.
I'm pulling up more records when my phone buzzes with a news alert. Entertainment section, why do I even have that enabled? But the headline makes my blood freeze:
"Pharmaceutical Giant Attends Film Premiere"
The photo loads slowly on my old laptop. Neumann's hand on Janine's waist, possessive, claiming. The same hand that was on my mother in those hospital photos I found. History repeating while I sat patient, playing by rules that protect powerful men. She's wearing an expensive dress I know she doesn't own, looking overwhelmed but smiling, playing the part of the ingénue perfectly.
Another photo. Him guiding her toward the theater entrance, his hand now on her lower back, steering her into the darkness. The timestamp: one hour ago.
The premiere started at nine. It's ten-thirty now. An hour and a half. She's been alone with him in that dark theater for an hour and a half.
For three heartbeats, I sit frozen, staring at the photo. Janine's smile. His hand. The darkness of the theater entrance. Then my laptop slams shut and I'm moving, my patience shattering in an instant.
I'm yanking open my closet, pulling out the red dress, the only one fitting for a film premiere. The silk burns against my fingers, but I'm already stepping into it, yanking the zipper with shaking hands. The silk slides over my skin like his hands would, marking me as his even as I run toward danger. The dress fits perfectly. He knows every curve.
No time for makeup, for planning, for anything except action.
