In the morning, Aiden puts me on the phone with two of his attorneys and I tell them what Blake did to me during the party. They take careful notes and ask me about a zillion questions. They also develop a plan of action. They ask when is the soonest that I can come back to New York and file a police report. I need to put all of this on record before they can proceed with filing charges. Since it didn’t happen that long ago, there’s still time to press criminal charges before going after him civilly. This is the best course of action, according to the attorneys. They don’t say this, but I know that this will also likely confirm his firing as the interim CEO of Owl. If the Board of Directors isn’t happy with him now, they definitely won’t be happy with this turn of events. This isn’t exactly why I’m so eager to file a report against Blake, but it’s definitely a cherry on top. He took my boyfriend’s job and I like having the power to oust him from that position, or at least do something to contribute to the firing.

Over breakfast, Aiden and I decide that the best thing to do now would be to just go back to New York. With his access to a helicopter and a private plane, we aren’t subject to regular flight schedules and Aiden thinks that we can file a report, brief the attorneys, and get back to sitting with our feet in the sand and cocktails in our hands on Caye Caulker within twenty-four hours. That seems like wishful thinking to me, but I’m definitely hoping to be back in forty-eight hours.

The flights back to New York are rather uneventful. I ask Aiden to stay behind and enjoy his yacht, but he doesn’t want to hear anything about it. He wants to be there to hold my hand and I appreciate it. The closer we get to New York, the more freaked out I get over going to the police station and making a report. Somehow, in the middle of the Caribbean, this whole situation didn’t seem quite as real as it does when we land back on the ground.

We head straight from the airport to the police precinct. Thanks to Aiden’s attorneys, the cops there are aware of our coming and are prepared for us. They take me back to a special room, tell me that the video camera is on, and ask me to make a statement. The room doesn’t have one of those two-way mirrors I’ve seen in the movies. But it is just as claustrophobic, windowless, and bland as I expected. There isn’t one interesting thing to look at on the walls. They are completely bare. I sit behind a plain dark wood table on one of the most uncomfortable chairs I’ve ever had the displeasure of using.

I point this out to the cop, and tell him that they remind me of the kind of chair I had my freshman year at Yale, but he doesn’t really commiserate. Instead, he asks me to start at the beginning. How I got to the party? What was actually taking place at the auction? I nod and say that I will as soon as my attorney gets here.

Aiden and I have talked this over. This is quite sensitive information, as you can imagine. The idea that someone is hosting an auction of attractive girls off the coast of New York isn’t exactly something that isn’t going to pique the police’s interest. But Aiden insisted that I need to tell them everything. That’s the only way that my name, which will undoubtedly be speared anyway, won’t be able to be badmouthed completely.

“I have to tell them the truth,” he said.

“But wouldn’t that make what you were doing…illegal?”

“No, not necessarily.”

“Of course, it will. I mean, there was an exchange. These men are paying for sex and you’re orchestrating the whole thing.”

We had to turn to his attorney to settle the argument. He said that I would have to use very specific language to not make it prostitution and that I was not to utter a single world without his presence.

There’s a knock at the door. When the cop answers, an attractive guy in his late thirties comes in wearing an immaculate suit and carrying an expensive looking briefcase. Everything about him is polished, from his $400 haircut down to his $700 shoes. He introduces himself as Neil Goss, my attorney. So, this was the guy we talked to on the phone last night. Hmm. Really didn’t expect him to be so easy on the eyes.

Officer Lindon shakes his hand and gives him a seat at the table. Then he excuses himself to get another chair.

“Are you ready?” Neil asks.

“I think so.”

“Just say what we practiced this morning. If you have any doubts about what you should or shouldn’t say, don’t say a word and confirm it with me.”

When Officer Lindon returns, I start at the beginning. I start with my roommate, Caroline, inviting me to a yacht party - the first time I met Aiden. The cop asks me all sorts of questions about the boat and how I got there prior to getting to the auction. He’s warming me up and it’s working. My words flow a little bit smoother and I relax a bit. Finally, it’s time to describe the auction. I look over at Neil, who gets a little tense in between his shoulders but otherwise covers up his discomfort very well. Without further ado, I dive right in and explain it, just as we had practiced it earlier.

“So, these women are basically getting sold to the highest bidder?” Officer Lindon asks. He’s trying to throw me off, sidetrack me. But I won’t let him.

“No, the bidding is just for fun. The men pay money to basically meet the girls and spend time with them. But sex isn’t part of the exchange.”

“So, you and the other girls didn’t have sex with the men who bid on you?”

“My client does not have any knowledge about what the other women at the party did or did not do afterward,” Neil interrupts.

“Okay, what about you, Ellie?”

“Well, yes, Aiden and I were intimate. But it had nothing to do with the money.”

“No?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not a prostitute. The auction was just a fancy introduction service. It’s really a way for rich powerful men to show off how much money they can spend on a hot girl. But there’s no required reciprocity. If any of the women did have sex with the men who bid on them, they did it purely because they wanted to. Just like me.”

Officer Lindon doesn’t entirely buy this. But I try to steer the conversation to my second trip to the yacht and what Blake did. I’m not the one who is on trial here. I’m a victim. Luckily, Lindon doesn’t object.

Five hours later, I’m finally free to go. After explaining the whole situation in detail and getting it all on tape, Officer Lindon asked me to write down my complaint and sign it as well. Prior to signing, Neil carefully read all five pages of my complaint against Blake, scrutinizing each word. In a few instances, he asked me to change a few words - to be more vague - and in a few, he asked me to be more precise.

“I had no idea that words were so important in your profession,” I say, signing each page of my statement.

“Words are everything. Or rather the way that words are interpreted. What else is there, right?”

That’s a nice way to think about it. I’ve been conditioned to think that being an English major was a pretty useless degree, but not to Neil. All English majors do is analyze text and words and apparently, that’s all Neil does in his job as well.

After we hand over my statement, I’m free to go. Aiden meets us on the curb in his car. He’s going to make his statement tomorrow. Even though it’s dark already, Neil refuses a ride and instead hails a cab. I bid him farewell and climb into Aiden’s car.

“How did it go?”

“Long. I’m so tired.”

“I can imagine.”

“Be prepared for a very tedious examination.”

Aiden nods and squeezes my hand. We are planning on taking off right after Aiden gives his statement tomorrow. Neither of us want to hang around New York when the story breaks and becomes news, which it will undoubtedly become with Leslie on our side. Everything else can be handled through lawyers and public relations executives. If there’s a trial then we will both come back, prepare, and testify, but until then, there’s no reason to hang around here.

“I can’t wait to get back to Caye Caulker,” I whisper when he pulls up to my apartment. I’m going to stay at my place tonight. Aiden’s meeting with the cops early tomorrow morning and he’s going to pick me up as soon as he’s done so we can head back down to the Caribbean.

“Me neither,” he says, stopping the car at the curb and giving me a big kiss on the lips.

“See you tomorrow,” I say and get out.