Chapter 1Blamed for Speaking Up

My thesis advisor set me up and sexually assaulted me in his office. After I called 911, I locked myself in the restroom.

The police did not arrive first. My junior lab mate, Sarah, did.

She shrieked and slapped me hard across the face. "My Harvard PhD application is due next week! Dr. Lawson is my primary reference! What am I supposed to do if he goes to jail? Couldn't you just suck it up?"

A senior guy from our lab pulled a stack of cash from his pocket and threw it right at my face. "Take the five grand. Drop the charges. We will make sure you graduate without any hiccups. Do you honestly think anyone is going to believe you over a tenured professor?"

I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and opened the voice memo app on my phone.

"They will believe this."

...

At three o'clock that afternoon, I was in the tissue culture room passaging a fresh batch of cells. My advisor walked down the hallway and rapped his knuckles twice against the glass door.

"Nora, come to my office. We need to talk about your thesis."

I looked up. Dr. Lawson was wearing a navy blue polo shirt with a popped collar. His face was flushed with an unnatural redness. He looked like he had just woken up from a nap, or maybe like he had downed a few drinks at lunch.

The AC in the tissue culture room was blasting, but a thin layer of sweat coated his forehead.

"Right now? I just finished splitting this batch."

"Leave it. It will survive a few minutes."

I was two years into my master's program, and the spots for transferring into the PhD track had not been finalized yet. Another student in my cohort had been quietly pushed out of the program just last month. I could not afford to offend my advisor. I followed him up the stairs to his office.

His door was wide open. He walked in first, pulled the blinds shut, and casually pushed the door closed behind him.

I knew immediately that something was wrong.

Closing a door for a private academic meeting was normal, but the casual, practiced way he did it made my stomach drop.

I kept quiet and sat down across from him, separated by a massive mahogany desk.

He pulled up a chair and walked around the desk to sit right next to me.

"So, I looked at the third chapter of your thesis. The innovation just is not there. You need to dig deeper."

He reached out and patted my shoulder.

"Relax. Do not look so tense."

His palm rested on my shoulder for a full second before sliding down to rest against the curve of my waist. Even through the thin fabric of my lab coat and shirt, I could feel the burning heat of his fingers.

My entire body flinched away on pure reflex.

"Dr. Lawson?"

"Keep talking," he said, not removing his hand. His thumb rubbed lazy circles against my side. "Tell me. How exactly do you plan to dig deeper?"

I did not say a word. I just stared at him. He stared back, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Move your hand," I told him.

He did not move. Instead, he stood up.

"Grad students need to learn how to play ball, Nora. How do you think you get published, earn a degree, or secure a PhD spot? You could be the best bench scientist in the world, but if I do not sign off on your work, you walk away with absolutely nothing."

I stood up quickly, my back hitting the heavy bookshelf. There was nowhere else to retreat.

"Do not come any closer."

He lunged forward and clamped his hand around my wrist. His grip was entirely too strong.

"Dr. Lawson, let me go!"

He did not let go. His free arm wrapped around my waist, yanking me away from the bookshelf and dragging me roughly toward the edge of his desk.

"Screaming will not do you any good," he whispered, his voice dropping low. "The entire floor is empty. I sent the rest of the lab down to the animal facility."

He was telling the truth. At two o'clock, the entire research group had gone down to the basement vivarium. I was the only one who stayed behind because my cells needed to be passaged.

He shoved me down onto the mahogany desk.

I fought with everything I had. I shoved his chest and dug my fingernails deep into his forearm. He hissed in pain but did not stop.

The buttons of my lab coat snapped off, scattering across the floor and rolling under the bookshelf.

I opened my mouth to scream, and he immediately clamped a heavy, sweaty hand over my mouth.

"Shut up. Making a scene will not end well for either of us."

I bit down hard on his hand. In response, he threw his weight against me, pinning me down with crushing force.

I do not want to remember what happened after that.