The Fallen Salesgirl - Chapter 9: Chapter 9
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The female officer sighed, her expression conflicted. "Legally, you're the victim here. But right now, the evidence makes it look like a paid arrangement. At most, we can push for a settlement—and honestly, they could turn around and sue you for defamation."
My vision blurred with tears.
She gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Go home. Get some rest. We'll keep digging… but cases like this? Without concrete proof, it's nearly impossible to make charges stick."
Defeated, I walked out—only to freeze at the sight of Richard Winston and Derek Anderson loitering outside the station.
Instead of avoiding me, they sauntered over, smirking.
"Aw, what's wrong, sweetheart? You were begging for it the other night," Richard sneered.
Derek chuckled. "Three days of fun and a paycheck? Hell, we should be pressing charges."
"Gold-digging whore," Richard added with a wink.
I trembled, fists clenched, before flagging down a cab and escaping.
At home, I collapsed onto my bed, silent sobs shaking my body. I ignored Olivia's calls. Ignored Vivian's texts.
Then—just when I'd given up—Officer Jessica Watson showed up at my door the next morning, holding a case file.
"We found something," she said, sliding a photo toward me. "This smart home device—the kind telecoms give out with internet plans? It has a 'Care Mode' that records video when it senses movement. Even when the screen's off."
My breath hitched.
She nodded. "We pulled the footage. Richard's guilty of unlawful confinement. Derek? Far worse. Rape. Assault. The evidence is airtight." Her voice softened. "But it's your call now."
I didn't hesitate. "I want them prosecuted."
Jessica exhaled. "Look… I'd understand if you took a settlement. We could push for $30K. A trial will be ugly. Their lawyers will drag you through hell. And with their connections? Prison isn't guaranteed."
"Trial," I repeated. "They don't get to walk away."
Respect flickered in her eyes. "Then we fight. But brace yourself."
And fight we did.
For months, my life revolved around depositions, hearings, and sleepless nights. Work became impossible. Every court date was a fresh humiliation.
But the prosecutors never wavered. The Women's Federation provided lawyers. And after three grueling months—justice.
Richard: 1 year, 3 months for unlawful confinement.
Derek: 3 years for rape and assault.
I won $15,000 in damages. A numb, hollow victory.
The media, though? They feasted.
"SALESWOMAN HELD HOSTAGE, RAPED 30+ TIMES IN 80-HOUR ORDEAL!"
"BEAUTY TRAPPED BY CLIENTS: 'I BEGGED THEM TO STOP'"
Now, everywhere I go? The whispers follow. The cameras lurk.
The world knows.
And nothing will ever be the same.
My vision blurred with tears.
She gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Go home. Get some rest. We'll keep digging… but cases like this? Without concrete proof, it's nearly impossible to make charges stick."
Defeated, I walked out—only to freeze at the sight of Richard Winston and Derek Anderson loitering outside the station.
Instead of avoiding me, they sauntered over, smirking.
"Aw, what's wrong, sweetheart? You were begging for it the other night," Richard sneered.
Derek chuckled. "Three days of fun and a paycheck? Hell, we should be pressing charges."
"Gold-digging whore," Richard added with a wink.
I trembled, fists clenched, before flagging down a cab and escaping.
At home, I collapsed onto my bed, silent sobs shaking my body. I ignored Olivia's calls. Ignored Vivian's texts.
Then—just when I'd given up—Officer Jessica Watson showed up at my door the next morning, holding a case file.
"We found something," she said, sliding a photo toward me. "This smart home device—the kind telecoms give out with internet plans? It has a 'Care Mode' that records video when it senses movement. Even when the screen's off."
My breath hitched.
She nodded. "We pulled the footage. Richard's guilty of unlawful confinement. Derek? Far worse. Rape. Assault. The evidence is airtight." Her voice softened. "But it's your call now."
I didn't hesitate. "I want them prosecuted."
Jessica exhaled. "Look… I'd understand if you took a settlement. We could push for $30K. A trial will be ugly. Their lawyers will drag you through hell. And with their connections? Prison isn't guaranteed."
"Trial," I repeated. "They don't get to walk away."
Respect flickered in her eyes. "Then we fight. But brace yourself."
And fight we did.
For months, my life revolved around depositions, hearings, and sleepless nights. Work became impossible. Every court date was a fresh humiliation.
But the prosecutors never wavered. The Women's Federation provided lawyers. And after three grueling months—justice.
Richard: 1 year, 3 months for unlawful confinement.
Derek: 3 years for rape and assault.
I won $15,000 in damages. A numb, hollow victory.
The media, though? They feasted.
"SALESWOMAN HELD HOSTAGE, RAPED 30+ TIMES IN 80-HOUR ORDEAL!"
"BEAUTY TRAPPED BY CLIENTS: 'I BEGGED THEM TO STOP'"
Now, everywhere I go? The whispers follow. The cameras lurk.
The world knows.
And nothing will ever be the same.
End of The Fallen Salesgirl Chapter 9. Continue reading Chapter 10 or return to The Fallen Salesgirl book page.