I looked at the stack of credit card statements she had brought.

The balances were astronomical, all run up in a matter of months at luxury shops in Beverly Hills and Palm Springs.

“Why you, Melanie?” I asked softly. “Of all the people at the firm, why did he target you?”

Melanie looked away, her eyes fixing on the snow piling up on the asphalt outside.

She took a slow, shallow breath.

“Because I said no to him,” she said.

My stomach dropped. “What did he do?”

“It started about a year ago, right after he was promoted to senior partner,” she said.

She stared down at her coffee cup, her thumb tracing the cardboard sleeve.

“He started scheduling late-night meetings,” she continued. “Just the two of us in his office.”

“Did he touch you?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

“He tried,” she said. “He cornered me by the filing cabinets one evening. He told me that my career at the firm depended on how cooperative I was willing to be.”

She looked back up at me, her eyes hard and dry.