Chapter 2

A few days passed. The anonymous messages stopped.

I figured the person had moved on.

Work was busy. I was reviewing applications for the next cohort of our VC firm's incubator.

One evening, scrolling through my P.T.U. alumni feed, I saw a post from a shared group.

"Pioneer Accelerator Hopefuls."

It was a link to an obscure online forum. "The Citadel."

The title of the thread made my stomach clench.

"P.T.U. Women: All Flash, No Substance?"

Curiosity, or maybe a bad feeling, made me click.

The first post was a photo.

Me.

In the Starbucks.

Taken from behind, slightly to the side. My Alo Yoga outfit clearly visible.

The caption under it: [Spotted at P.T.U. Is this what serious ambition looks like? Or just looking for attention?]

My face burned.

The comments were worse.

[Typical. Probably here to snag a rich tech bro.]

[These types get everything handed to them.]

[Doubt she even knows what an algorithm is.]

I felt sick.

This was targeted. Malicious.

I took screenshots, my fingers shaking slightly.

Who would do this?

Later that week, I was reviewing the final candidates for the "Pioneer" Accelerator Program.

P.T.U.'s most prestigious incubator. I was on the selection committee, representing our firm as a potential lead investor.

One application stood out, not for its brilliance, but for the name.

Mark Jenkins.

His profile picture was small, a bit grainy.

But the face seemed familiar.

Then it hit me.

The guy at the table near the window in Starbucks. The one who kept glancing over, then quickly looking down at his laptop.

His application essay was full of buzzwords. "Disruptive innovation." "Bootstrapped hustle."

One line jumped out.

"I am committed to ethical practices and fostering a respectful, professional environment."

Respectful?

The forum post flashed in my mind.

The anonymous messages.

It couldn't be.

But the timing, the location...

A cold knot formed in my gut.