Gretchen Lovewell

The day I sold my soul began like any other. I had a lunch appointment with Farah Hojjat, the Executive Assistant to the CEO of the Foncault Group. She wanted to fill me in on the background for a multi-billion-dollar merger deal that I was working on as a corporate lawyer employed by Brewster Bailey Hamilton LLP (BBH). BBH had been retained to represent the Foncault Group by the CEO, Jack Grierson and he had insisted that I handle the deal for my firm, even though I was only a junior associate. It meant an enormous bonus for me – and I had Jack to thank for that. (See my story, Gretchen Lovewell.)

Farah was already waiting for me at Fernando’s, a toney bistro that catered to the executive crowd. She was petite where I am tall, had a heart-shaped face as distinct from my more oval one, big brown eyes as opposed to my baby blues, and hourglass womanly curves that contrasted with my athletic figure. Would Jack choose me if he had to choose between us, I wondered.

She was dressed as I was myself, in a dark business suit with a short, tight skirt, chiffon blouse, and single-button jacket that hung open. She wore a red silk choker and very high heels. She had told me that she was Iranian by birth but had been sent to boarding schools in England at a young age, then on to Oxford for university and business school. Her accent was distinctly upper-class British.

The waitstaff seated us in a corner booth, secluded from the rest of the restaurant by a high partition. A waiter had been hovering and he quickly came by to take our order. We both ordered virgin spritzers.

“We’ll wait to order food,” said Farah. “We’ll be joined by some colleagues. They should be here any minute.”

Almost on cue, two women were shown to our table by the waitstaff. Both were tall and extremely athletic. One looked very young, even younger than me, the other was a bit older, in her thirties or forties, it was hard to tell. Farah and I stood up and she introduced us.

“This is Gretchen Lovewell,” Farah said to the two new arrivals. “She’s an associate at Brewster Bailey Hamilton.”

“Amy McAdams, Vice President Operations at Amtex Reinsurance” said the older woman, shaking my hand. “This is my colleague Ryder Fox.” (See my story, Ryder Fox Rocks.)

 We all sat down. The waiter reappeared and we all ordered lunch.

“Is Amtex part of the merger deal?” I asked.

“I’m afraid I brought you here under false pretenses, Gretchen,” said Farah. “I don’t want to talk to you about the merger deal. I want to talk to you about Jack. That’s why Amy and Ryder are here.”

“Where’s Jack?”

“He’s overseas troubleshooting in the Middle East and Russia,” she replied. “I had to backstop some things for him this morning.”

“Any women involved?” I asked, half joking.

“With Jack, there’s always women involved,” Farah replied, deadpan.

“Oh,” I said.

“I am privy to all corporate communications at Foncault,” said Farah. “Only Jack knows the full extent of my controls and clearances. Even Reginald St. James, the chairman, and Jack’s father-in-law, doesn’t know. That’s why I called you all here.”

“Go on,” said Amy.

“Amy, you know that St. James and Bailey – and many of the other old money bluebloods – have been trying to take Jack down for years. Well, recently, I came across correspondence between St. James and Bailey relating to you, Gretchen.”

“Me?” I said, surprised. “What were they saying?”

“It will be helpful to begin by going back to an old story,” said Farah. “From Jack’s undergraduate days.”

“I thought he didn’t graduate from college?” I said, puzzled. “Is that untrue?”

Farah didn’t answer, but tapped her phone for a minute. Then she looked up and handed it to me. It was the picture of an inside page of a student newspaper from decades earlier.

QUARTERBACK JOHN GRIERSON LEAVES UNIVERSITY TO JOIN THE ARMY read the headline. 

‘John H. Grierson Jr., the university’s star sophomore quarterback has announced that he will not be returning in the Fall to lead the football team.  He has decided to leave the university with immediate effect to pursue a career in the army.  Grierson was accused of sexual assault by English literature professor Elizabeth Anne Smythe, a case that never came to trial.  Grierson has never denied having sex with Smythe and has accepted that he is likely the father of her child.  However, he has always maintained that the sex between them was consensual and has offered to take on debt to pay for child support, an offer that Smythe has rejected.  When asked, both Grierson and Head Football Coach Gordon Dean said that the quarterback’s departure was not related to Smythe’s accusations.’

“He was accused of a felony,” I said, handing Farah’s phone back to her. “That’s serious.”

She passed it to Amy, who put it on the table between her and Ryder so both women could read it together. She waited till they finished reading it and returned her phone before continuing.

“That’s the official story,” said Farah. “It’s a bare-faced lie.”

“How do you know?”

“I went up to Boston,” said Farah. All four of us ate in silence for a few minutes. Then she continued. “I met several of Professor Smythe’s colleagues and deans. The other professors and the dean’s office all backed her story, of course. But then I talked to people lower down in the university hierarchy – admin assistants, custodians, and security staff, most of them African Americans and other minorities. The older ones all remembered Jack.”

“Why?”

“He was the university’s star athlete. That’s the part of the university that the non-academic staff relate to. But unlike most top jocks, they all said that Jack spent time with them, the custodians and security staff, the people who clean and take care of the university buildings for the rich kids. It wasn’t just talk. He met with their kids in the ghetto, always had time to throw the ball with them. He bought them little gifts, even though he was a poor boy living on a shoestring.”

“I can see Jack doing that,” said Ryder Fox.

“Many of them saw Professor Smythe and Jack together on the university grounds, in the halls, in her office. Hugging, kissing, making out. They said she acted absolutely besotted with him. One of the custodians recalled knocking on her office door in the evening, after hearing her panting and moaning.  It’s been years, but he said he could still recall what he heard. She was crying out, ‘Fuck me, Jack! Oh, fuck me, hard! You’re in me so deep, so very deep! My husband can’t fuck me like this!’ Fifteen minutes later, he saw Jack emerge from her office.”

“We can understand her,” said Amy McAdams. “Can’t we?”

I nodded. I looked across the table and saw Ryder nodding as well. Farah continued.

“She’d become obsessed with Jack and was having him fuck her twice a day, at her house, in her office, in her car. Then, Smythe’s husband, who’s also a professor at the university, caught Jack fucking her in their bedroom. By this time, she knew she was pregnant with Jack’s child, and panicked. She assured her husband that she had never cheated on him and that Jack was forcing himself on her.”

“How old were they?” I asked. “Not that it matters, of course.”

“He was twenty. She was thirty.”

“You’re thorough,” I said.

“Yes,” said Farah, without conceit.

“Did you ask Jack about it?”

“Many times. But he just clams up and won’t talk about it. He’s like that about everything in his personal life.”

“I think you love him,” I said.

“In one way or the other, I think we all do,” said Amy.

“Perhaps,” said Farah. “I don’t know. He’s a hard man to love – he pushes everyone away.”

“Yes, he does,” I said. “Sometimes I think I know him so well. And other times, I feel like I don’t know him at all.”

“I thought it was just me,” said Ryder.

“Now that we’ve gone over this, let me tell you what I heard,” said Farah. “Bailey came to St. James with a proposition involving you, Gretchen. They’re going to pressure you to accuse Jack of felonious sexual assault – just like Elizabeth Ann Smythe all those years ago. Back then, the privileged sonsofbitches forced him out of college, took away everything he worked so hard for, took away the military scholarship his father died for. They forced him down to the bottom of the ladder. He joined the army as an enlisted man and bled for the same bastards that broke him. He’s been wounded so many times, we’ve all seen his scarred body. I’ve seen his Purple Hearts and all his other medals. He has them hidden in a bottom drawer of his desk, but I’m a nosy bitch and I found them.”

“Good for you,” said Amy.

“He came out of the service and started again with nothing – and worked his way up. He’s making billions for them.” Farah paused for breath, and we could all see that she had teared up. “Now they want to take him down once again. St. James has never been able to fire Jack because he’s been the best-performing CEO in the Fortune 500 for several years now. The Board would never agree to it. But an accusation of sexual assault gives him just the excuse he needs.”

“He’ll lose his job,” I said, slowly. “But it’s just a job.”

“It’s much more than that,” said Farah. “This time the stakes are so much higher. Working for Foncault, Jack has made many powerful enemies – many we know, and a lot that we don’t know. He has a very expensive black ops firm running his security detail, the best in the business. The Foncault Group pays for that. If he loses his job, he loses his protection, and that means he’ll lose his life.”

All three of them, Farah, Amy, and Ryder were looking at me expectantly.

“You wouldn’t do that, would you, Gretchen?” Ryder asked. “You couldn’t accuse Jack of sexual assault - it would be a lie.”

“Well,” I said. “He is a bit forceful.”

“Be serious, Gretchen,” said Amy. “Like Farah, I know what’s at stake here. And I know Jack. You wanted him to fuck you.”

“Well …” I said, uncertainly. “I did want him to fuck me because the way he makes me cum is so addictive, something I can’t resist. But the legal definition of –”

“Are you going to go along with St. James and Bailey?” Farah asked bluntly.

“I don’t want any harm to come to Jack,” I said.

“For God’s sake,” said Amy. “Stop being a lawyer and give us a straight answer.”

“I can’t stop being a lawyer,” I said defensively. “Logic and facts are important. I’ve already told you I wouldn’t do anything to harm Jack.”

“Is that all you’re going to say?” Ryder asked.

“What more can I say?” I replied, irritably.

*

Later that afternoon, I walked into Farah’s office in the headquarters tower of the Foncault Group. She looked very different from the confident woman I had lunch with – uncharacteristically subdued.

“Mr. Reginald St. James, the chairman, will see you in his office,” she said, rising. “Follow me, please.”

I followed her down a corridor and past an attractive administrator in an outer office to a big set of double doors. She knocked and entered. I went in after her. It was an enormous corner office with commanding views of the city on two sets of picture windows. The office was so big that the massive desk was quite far away. There was a conference table closer to us. I was surprised to see Chip Bailey seated there along with a silver-haired gentleman dressed in a conservative dark suit with a colorful silk tie. Both men rose and I shook their hands.

“That will be all, Farah,” said the silver-haired man. Farah left, closing the doors behind her, and he continued. “Gretchen, I’m Reginald St. James. Please join us.” We all seated ourselves at the conference table and St. James went on. “Chip tells me that Jack particularly asked for you to work on this merger deal for us.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Chip also tells me that Jack asked for you on this merger deal because he wishes to continue … forcing himself on you.”

I looked from Bailey to St. James and my anger showed on my face.

“That is my private business,” I said.

“Gretchen, Gretchen,” St. James’s voice was soothing. “We understand the trauma you’ve gone through. We’re here to help you.”

“Jack Grierson committed a crime, Gretchen,” said Bailey. He pushed a paper file folder toward me. “All you have to do is sign this formal complaint. And we will take it from there.”

I opened the file folder and quickly scanned the documents. It was in legalese but my expertise enabled me to quickly internalize it. It was my statement accusing Jack of sexual assault in my office at Brewster Bailey Hamilton LLP.

“I can’t sign this,” I said. “This is not what happened.”

“The office has video footage, Gretchen,” said Bailey. “We know what Jack did to you. The statement merely reflects the video.”

“You have video surveillance in my office?” I asked, shocked. “That’s an invasion of privacy!”

“Security cameras are routine in the office, Gretchen.”

“The sex was consensual.”

“It didn’t look that way. And it will be far better for you are accept our version when we talk to your husband.”

“You can’t show the video to Richard!”

“We already have,” said St. James. “He does not blame you. Grierson has been accused before, back when he was in college. He’s a known threat. You will be doing all women a service by taking him down.”

“We understand how hard this has been for you, Gretchen,” said Bailey. “The firm would like to compensate you for your trauma. One hundred thousand dollars. And a promotion to senior associate, effective immediately.”

St. James pressed a button on the conference table intercom.

“Kelsie, please ask Mr. Richard Parkin to come in. He’s in the waiting room.”

A moment later, my husband Richard walked in and joined us at the conference table. He took my hand and squeezed it gently.

“Mr. Bailey and Mr. St. James have explained everything to me, darling. I’ve seen the video. I understand the fear you felt. I now know that the child you’re carrying isn’t mine – your pregnancy is just one more horrific outcome of this trauma. Thankfully, we have free choice, and you can terminate it immediately.”

“But Richard –”

“The one hundred-thousand-dollar compensation and the promotion to senior associate is the least they can do.”

I was shocked again. They had already met Richard and prepped him. I felt like I had walked into a well-laid ambush.

“This is all very –” I tried to speak, but Richard cut me off again.

“I know your pregnancy has your hormones out of whack, it’s difficult for you to think clearly. But you’ve got to see how important it is to take down a predator like Grierson.”

“I’m not sure I want an abortion,” I said.

“Carrying yet another of Grierson’s impregnations to term will place unwelcome new burdens on the Foncault Group,” said St. James.

“If you won’t terminate this pregnancy and sign the paperwork,” said Richard. “I have to wonder about the future of our marriage.”

“And the firm will have to consider whether to renew your contract.”

I looked from Bailey to St. James to my husband. If I didn’t sign the paperwork accusing Jack, I would lose my marriage, my job, everything.

“If you fire Jack, what happens to the merger?”

“It’s Jack’s deal. Without him, the merger is dead,” said St. James.

“That will cost the Foncault Group over a billion dollars,” I said.

“I’m willing to pay that price to be rid of Jack Grierson.”

“What about my work on it?”

“Don’t worry,” said Bailey. “We’ll find you another equally lucrative brief to work on. After all, you’re a senior associate now.”

“This is blackmail,” I said. “And a payoff.”

“No, Gretchen,” said St. James. “It is giving that bastard Jack Grierson what he deserves. Don’t feel any misplaced loyalty toward him. He certainly feels none for you – I hate to put it this way, but you’re just another impregnated woman in a long line. Another notch in his belt. We’ve got detailed records of his sexual peccadilloes since he’s become CEO. Let me illuminate you.” He pressed his intercom button. “Ask Ms. Hojjat to come back in, please.”

Farah came back in and stood – St. James did not ask her to sit down with us.

“Farah, tell Ms. Lovewell how many women we have on the books for pregnancies with Jack Grierson. And how much the company is paying in child support.”

“Thirty-seven pregnancies,” said Farah, her voice emotionless. “And twenty-two with child support from the company.”

“You see, Gretchen,” said St. James, spreading his hands eloquently. “Jack is costing the company a huge amount.”

“He’s –” began Bailey.

“Costing the company?” Farah cut Bailey off, her voice rising. “You have the gall to say Jack is costing the company money? Have you no shame, Mr. St. James?”

“That’s quite enough –” began St. James.

“No, it’s not nearly enough!” Farah shot back. “When Jack took over as CEO, your poor excuse for a corporate group wasn’t even close to being in the Fortune 500. It had a market cap of $80 million, mainly from timber leases your father got from his Ivy League college buddies after World War 2. Jack expanded into mining, oil and gas, then information technology, biotechnology, and most recently design – the Foncault Design Corporation is now worth over $100 million, by itself. The market cap of the group at yesterday’s close was over $20 billion. I know you can’t do the math, Mr. St. James, so I’ll do it for you – that’s a 250-fold increase in less than fifteen years.”

“The market has had a good run –”

“A good run? Are you joking? He’s beaten every market index over tenfold. Wall Street loves him. He’s done that by taking risks, by going head-to-head with people that you wouldn’t DARE oppose. He’s...