A/N: I missed my chapter drops for the last two weeks. I've developed a reputation for consistency (of which I am very proud) and my absence was therefore unusual. I was in western Ireland for a family reunion and didn't do any writing. And then I couldn't get myself together to finalize this chapter in the couple of days I was back home after the trip. Sorry all. But, I really have to tell you how touched I am at those of my friends here who reached out to me to make sure I was ok. You guys are such a great community. Thanks. Your friendship is truly treasured.
A/N2: You don't own Chuck. MeToo.
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Jeff Barnes had finished his workout at the Studio gym and was heading through the backlot. The newest personal trainer, a gigantic African-American man named Mike Colt, had been crucial in helping him achieve a personal record in the squat. And, on top of that, it was a beautiful day in Los Angeles. He was in a fine mood. His workouts were improving as he got himself back into some kind of shape. His new blue suit fit well and was a fine lightweight linen. His shoes were shined and he wore a splash of cologne. He felt like a million bucks and smiled to himself with his contentment. He had come so far from his blurry days at the Buy More.
He was going to be shooting a small scene for the pilot of the new TV show White Collar later that day and wanted to chat with the set designer who was setting up the shot for him.
A burly man in a rumpled suit passed him heading in the other direction. Jeff recognized the man as the top movie producer Harry Weinberg. He was one of the most important men in Hollywood and responsible for a long string of successful movies. Jeff's cheerful, "Good morning," was ignored by the more important man. 'Ah well,' Jeff thought with a mental shrug, not letting the other man's rudeness intrude on his good mood.
Jeff continued past the building and was just turning left at the end of the alley between buildings when he heard a woman crying quietly from the open door behind him. His stomach dropped. Looking inside he saw the young woman actor, Marjorie, collapsed in a heap on the floor of the building. Her clothes were askew, her hair was a mess, and her makeup was running from her tears.
'Oh, God. No,' Jeff thought. "Marjorie...Marjorie...," he said. He squatted down to her level, but didn't try to approach her.
She looked up at him with vacant eyes, but quickly realized she wasn't alone and began straightened her clothes. "Mr. Barnes..."
"Marjorie, you're in trouble. Somebody hurt you. Let me call Studio security. Please. They can get you an ambulance or something," he said, pleading, his phone in his hand.
"No, please don't. Don't. I'm not hurt. It's ok..."
"It's not ok, Marjorie," he said seriously. "You said that last time."
"No, please..."
"Marjorie, do you want to tell me what is happening? Please."
"No," she said shaking her head, her eyes on the ground at his feet. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw shame on her face.
Jeff thought for a moment and said, "Would you talk to a woman?"
Marjorie shrugged one shoulder and didn't say anything, which Jeff choose to understand as her acceptance.
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Sarah sat at her desk at Carmichael Industries and tried to concentrate on the paperwork in front of her. It wasn't easy. She was in a totally shitty mood. And Chuck was in a shitty mood for the same reason she was, and that made her own mood ten times shittier.
The whole mission to Pakistan to track down Orion had been a goddamn disaster. From the moment Orion had reached out to Chuck, they had been puppets following his direction. They had been sent running off to the other side of the world on an infuriating wild goose chase.
After the hijacked Predator had destroyed the Fulcrum team (a single bright spot in an otherwise clusterfucked mission) and the Orion boat, they had taken the Lucky Lady to look for wreckage as the sun rose over the Arabian Sea. There was a little bit to be found at the site where the Fulcrum team had been hit, but zero where the Orion boat had been. They were meant to assume that Orion was dead, with no body to be found and Orion's "past tense" farewell message to Chuck. But earlier that same evening Smith had told them that Orion had faked his death a number of times.
That got Chuck thinking. No wreckage at all, not even an oil stain on the water. And then he remembered that their boat's own radar hadn't shown anything ahead of them. He and Durab had attributed it to Orion being in a vessel too small to be picked up. The "more accurate and powerful" land-based radar had shown the Orion boat after all. But Chuck was now considering the possibility that Orion had arranged for them to chase a radar ghost into the sea. He dug into the computer system in the NSA radar facility in Kathor, the system that would have given the Lucky Lady the feed. To his frustration, he couldn't find any marks or digital fingerprints of an intrusion, except that a single log had a blank spot where he would have expected running digital information. He was now convinced that Orion had hacked into the system, leaving virtually no trace, and sent them out on the water with the Fulcrum team in pursuit to once again fake his death.
Chuck believed that Orion had taken control of a Predator from the Air Force and used it to eliminate the Fulcrum team and try to send his own team off the scent. The Air Force cyber-security folks were totally freaking out about the event. They wanted Chuck to set up his computer security systems into their operations faster than immediately, but Carmichael Industries had a waiting list of clients at this point.
But, of course, if Team B had followed a radar ghost into the water, that meant that Chuck had also been following a false signal from the phone from which he had received the Orion text message earlier in the evening. Even now, back in LA, Chuck was still chewing into the Mobile Switching Center to see how (no longer 'if') Orion had faked him out there too. Chuck was majorly upset. He could deal with being beaten, but to be beaten over and over again by Orion in the cyber realm, Chuck's home turf, had really rattled him.
And that rattled her. She didn't like it at all when her man was out of sorts. If she was being honest with herself, it made her bitchy.
She didn't even want to think about the mammoth fuck up when they went to sleep and let an entire Fulcrum team waltz into their bedroom. That was among the more humiliating screw-ups she could remember.
Her phone buzzed from reception. "Sarah, there's a Mr. Barnes here without an appointment. He's with a young woman and would like to speak with you."
Sarah sighed. She didn't have either the time or the energy to deal with some bullshit from Jeff this morning.
Sarah said, "Ok. I'll be right out." Sarah intended to tell Jeff to get lost, but she was a trifle curious. It was weird that he'd asked to speak to her and not to Chuck.
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Jeff was very careful not to touch Marjorie and make her more uncomfortable. He just sat waiting for Sarah, watching Marjorie sniffle quietly into his handkerchief. She seemed curled into herself, like a wounded animal might.
Sarah came out from the back where the offices were, looking slightly annoyed.
Jeff jumped to his feet and moved a bit outside of Marjorie's earshot. He said, quietly, "Sarah, thank you. I hate to impose on you, but you have always impressed the hell out of me, to be honest. Chuck is the best person I've ever met and you are his bookend. You are both smart and super competent, but kind too. My gut tells me that's what she needs now. I don't know what's going on with Marjorie, but this is the second time I've found her like this. She won't tell me what's happening, but maybe she'll talk to a woman."
Sarah's impatience with Jeff melted away as she looked at Marjorie. Her hard expression softened.
"OK, Jeff," she said, patting his arm. "Let's see what she has to say to a woman."
"Thank you so much. I didn't know what else to do."
"Hi. I'm Sarah. What's your name?" Sarah asked the crying woman, her voice soft and gentle.
"Marjorie," she said with almost a whisper. "Marjorie Waller."
"Can you come to talk to me? Talk to me someplace else, so no one interrupts us?"
Marjorie nodded and Sarah took her hand and led her into an empty conference room. Jeff sat on the couch and flipped through a copy of Wired magazine from the coffee table. He wasn't really reading it; just sort of turning the pages. He hoped this was going to work out alright. He watched through the window wall of the conference room.
Through the glass, he saw Sarah gently talking to Marjorie and Marjorie crying more. At one point Marjorie began to cry hysterically. Sarah slid from her seat and wrapped the younger woman in a tight hug. They stayed like that for almost five minutes, basically unmoving. Marjorie talking and crying and Sarah holding her and rubbing her back gently. Jeff tried not to intrude on their privacy through the glass, but he was curious.
After a while, once Marjorie had stopped crying, Sarah said a few more words to her and seemed to convince her to get up. Holding her hand, Sarah led them both out of the conference room and back into the reception area.
Jeff actually flinched when he saw Sarah. He remembered a horror movie where a demon from the depths of Hell began to walk the earth. But Sarah, at that moment, scared him more than that. She looked more than fearsome, but unlike the demon of his imagination, there was no heat – just a crushing icy aura. He almost shivered from the sight. Holy fucking shit, he thought.
Sarah, holding Marjorie's hand, began to lead the younger woman through the reception area. Halfway across she seemed to startle herself and recognize that Jeff was still there. She murmured a word or two to Marjorie and let go of her hand, stepping to Jeff.
She said, "I'm taking her to talk to someone else." She started to turn away but then she stopped and turned back to Jeff, she looked at him fondly and wrapped him in a hug and kissed his cheek. "You did good, Jeff. You did good. Thank you."
He nodded, happy that Sarah was now helping Marjorie. And certain that whoever had hurt the girl was about to have a very, very bad day.
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The elevator opened on the top floor of the Studio's office building, the executive floor. Still holding Marjorie's hand, Sarah marched down the hallway. She wasn't particularly well known there, but it didn't matter. She had the demeanor of a battleship at full steam ramming through heavy seas with all guns armed and the battle flags flying. People in the corridor literally scattered out of the way of the two women.
She walked up to Lisa Mattock's office and said to the assistant at the desk, "Is she in?"
"Yes, but she's in a meeting and can't be..."
Sarah walked straight past her, opened the door to Lisa's office and walked in, almost dragging Marjorie with her. Lisa and Zondra were both there, as were three men in a semi-circle facing Lisa behind her desk.
At the sudden interruption all eyes turned to look at the ladies. The assistant, from behind Sarah said, "I'm sorry, Ms. Mattock. She just..."
Lisa nodded and waved the woman away.
Stone-faced, Sarah pointed at the men one after the other and said, "You. You. You. Leave now."
The men looked around in confusion and finally turned to Lisa who said, "We'll take this up later. Thank you, guys. Close the door on your way out."
Once the door was closed, Sarah gently moved Marjorie to the couch and continued to hold her hand.
"Z, lock the door," said Sarah.
Zondra did so.
To Lisa, Sarah said, "Your protégé, Jeff Barnes, found her crying and brought her to talk to me." She turned to the distraught girl. "Marjorie, this is my friend Zondra and my friend Lisa. Lisa runs the studio. Please tell them what you told me. I promise you, you can trust them. They are my friends."
Marjorie continued to cry and said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't want to cause trouble. I know I just have to grow up."
Lisa had come around the desk to sit next to the distraught girl on the sofa. "Grow up about what, dear? Tell us what happened."
"I'm working on a commercial this afternoon. I came early to watch some of my friends working on one of the TV shows. I was just watching...you know...having fun seeing what they were doing. And then he must have seen me...and he..."
"Who?" asked Lisa. "Who saw you?"
"Mr. Weinberg," said Marjorie.
"Harry Weinberg?" asked Zondra.
"Yes. And...well, it was like last time...but I didn't want to...I didn't want to again. I was still sore from the last time...and … and he made me. And he hurt me. I told him I didn't want to...but he didn't care. He's much bigger and stronger than I am. I … " She slowly stopped talking.
"Did he rape you, Marjorie?" asked Lisa. She was trying to be gentle, but her voice came out harsh. Her hands were clenched into fists and her knuckles were bone white.
"Rape? I don't know. I didn't want to do it...but I knew I had to..."
"Wait, what?" asked Zondra. "What do you mean you had to? Why did you have to? I don't understand."
"Well, you know. Hollywood. You have to let them. Let them do it. It's what we all have to do. Me and the other girls. It's the only way to get the jobs. We have to do it. I want to be an actress, so I ...I guess..."
Lisa said, "This happens here? Here in the Studio? You and the other girls have to … have sex with people or you don't get work?" Sarah could see the dawning realization in Lisa's eyes mixed with the fire of fury.
"Well, sure. It's the only way. If you say no, you don't get any more jobs," said Marjorie.
"How old are you?" asked Zondra.
"I'm only nineteen," said Marjorie. "But I've talked to my friends here who've been here longer. Mr. Weinberg isn't the only one, but he...he seems to have taken a liking to me. He was ...with me now twice ...today and my first time..."
"Wait. Your first time?" asked Lisa, with dawning horror. "Your first time here in Hollywood or your REAL first time...your first time with a man?"
"Yeah...my first time with a man... I was a virgin. He seemed to really like that," said Marjorie, crying again.
Zondra growled deep in her throat and said, quietly and through clenched teeth, "Fucking son of a bitch." Her hands were shaking with rage.
"And then today again. But I can't complain. I can't make a fuss," said Marjorie.
Lisa said, "He raped you, Marjorie. You damn well can make a fuss. If you press charges against him, we can keep him away from you...from other women. We can stop this bastard."
Marjorie said, "No, no, no. I can't press charges. I'd never work again. I'd never get another job. I'll just be a troublemaker. I really want to be an actress. I've wanted to my whole life. This is just something I have to deal with. Please, please. You can't tell anyone. Please. Sarah told me I could talk to you and you wouldn't tell anyone."
Lisa sighed and said, "We won't. We won't tell anyone if you don't want us to. But, I'd like to tell my husband, please."
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A bit later, Ben Mattock arrived at the conference room to meet Weinberg, ten minutes after the time he had called for the meeting. The big man was inside, pacing impatiently. Mattock's delay had been intentional, to put the bigger man in an angry aggressive mood right at the start of the meeting.
Ben moved over to one of the young women sitting in the cubicles outside the room.
"Hi. What's your name?"
"I'm Dawn."
"Hi. I'm Ben. Dawn, do you have one of those new phones? The ones that let you take movies?" he asked.
"Yes." she said, impressed that she was talking to the head of the Studio.
"Good. Take out your phone and start recording, please."
"Record what?" she asked, confused but taking out her phone.
"You'll see," he said.
"For how long?" she asked.
"You'll know when to stop," he said, smiling at her kindly.
She watched him walk into the conference room and start to talk to Weinberg. She saw, and recorded, the conversation quickly getting heated. Mattock seemed calm, at least by his body language. She couldn't see his face, but whatever he was saying was infuriating Weinberg, who began to shove Mr. Mattock in the chest aggressively. Eventually, she saw the bigger man grab Mr. Mattock by the shirtfront with both his hands. She saw Mattock's hands grab at Weinberg's hands on his shirt and saw both men move around a little bit, jostling around until Weinberg was facing away from her. She saw Mattock hammer a knee into Weinberg's groin, once, twice, pause, a third time – all the blows seemed very fast and very, very hard. She was sure she was imagining it, but for all his bulk, Weinberg actually seemed to rise off the ground a tiny bit with each strike. After the third blow, Weinberg collapsed to the ground. Mattock had fallen with him, seeming to lose his balance, and whispered a few words into the prostrate man's ear before getting up and coming out of the room.
With Weinberg curled up and writhing on the floor of the conference room crying in pain, Mattock went directly to Dawn. He said, "Did you record it?" She nodded, still stunned by what she had just seen. "Good. You'll be famous. Call 911, please. I think he needs a doctor."
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Ben came back to his wife's office where the women were waiting for him. Lisa was on the couch and holding Marjorie's hand.
"Done," he said, moving over to the bar in the corner to make himself a manhattan. "Took me a few shots, but I made sure to get 'em both."
"Blowback?" asked Sarah.
"Naw. I had one of the secretaries record it on her phone. Looks exactly like I was attacked and defended myself. I had her send it to me. Want to see?"
"Damn right I do," said Lisa.
Ben took out his phone and held it out to them, playing the recording. Marjorie looked stunned. Lisa looked smugly satisfied. Zondra and Sarah gave each other grim fist bumps.
Ben took a large swallow of his manhattan and said, leaning back against the bar, "Barnes did good. Remind me to do the guy a solid."
"Why don't we greenlight that thing he wants to do?" asked Lisa.
"Yeah. Good idea," said Ben, nodding. "I'll make it happen." He finished the manhattan in another swallow and turned to make a second.
Lisa looked at Marjorie. "I would like you to press charges against that bastard for raping you, but I understand why you won't. But I do need you to do something for me instead, ok?"
Marjorie nodded.
"I need you to spread the word. Spread the word around here. To all your friends, the other women who feel preyed upon by men like him. Tell them that it doesn't happen here. Not here. Tell them they have nothing to fear in Castle. Anyone who is assaulted like what happened to you, or threatened with it, or coerced or harassed...anyone...you let them know they can come to Zondra or to me. We'll take care of it from there. What happened to you will never happen to another woman here. Tell them. Can you do that for me, please? Tell them all. Not here." Lisa's voice was as hard as granite and brooked no uncertainty.
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It was four hours later. Weinberg had been taken away in an ambulance. Ben Mattock was sitting in a conference room with one of the Studio's lawyers next to him. Two women police detectives were sitting with them.
"Care to tell me what happened, Mr. Mattock?" asked Detective Younkins.
"I learned that Weinberg had had non-consensual sex with a young woman actor here at the studio. The woman refuses to press charges against him for fear that he would ruin her career. And no, I will not tell you who she is. I confronted Weinberg about it and he attacked me. I defended myself."
"He says you attacked him," said Detective Schecter.
"Yeah. That's no surprise. Please watch this. I asked one of the secretaries to record it." Mattock began to run the recording of the incident.
When it had finished, Detective Younkins blew out a long breath and said, "Can you send that to us?"
"I'll take care of that," said the Studio's lawyer.
"Why did you have that recorded, Mr. Mattock?" asked Detective Schecter.
"Because he's bigger and stronger than I am. And at least twenty years younger. I was frightened," he replied. "I wanted evidence of what happened in case he attacked me." He didn't look particularly upset.
"You don't seem like you frighten too easily, Mr. Mattock," said Detective Younkins with the quirk of an eyebrow. Mattock didn't respond.
Detective Schecter said, "No way the DA prosecutes you with this video in hand. You are in the clear for sure on any assault charge. As he attacked you, would you like to press charges against him?"
"I don't think that will be necessary," he said with a shake of his head. "Detective, I would never presume to tell you your job, but perhaps I may make a suggestion?" asked Mattock.
"And what might that be?"
"This video has already been shared on social media. I can imagine it's going to get a good bit of play, particularly as, from what I now understand, this is not the first time that Weinberg has sexually assaulted a woman in the industry. Perhaps you might think about assigning someone to read the comments and reactions to the posting. Perhaps some women who have been his victims in the past might reveal themselves and they might be more agreeable to telling you their stories. Maybe you can convince one or more to press charges against Weinberg."
"That's a good idea. We will do that. If I may ask, this shit has been going on forever in Hollywood and no one ever does anything about it. Nobody gives a shit. Why you?" asked Schecter.
"My wife and I are not Hollywood people, and we aren't going to tolerate this crap at our Studio. I don't give a rat's ass about Hollywood traditions."
Younkins' phone beeped and she looked at the text message. She looked up and said, "Report from the hospital about Weinberg. Both of his testicles have been destroyed beyond repair and have to be surgically removed. How do you feel about that?"
The lawyer said, "You don't have to answer that, Ben."
Mattock said, poker-faced, "What a pity. I feel terrible."
The woman cop looked at him without expression of her own for long seconds and then said, with a small grin, "Yeah. Me too."
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A/N3: This is just the beginning of this particular subplot. As everyone knows, I moved the location of the secret spy base from the Buy More to underneath a movie studio. This sort of thing is why I made that decision. I decided that the subplots I could mix into the story would be much more interesting and fun than toilet paper revenge between Buy More Burbank and Buy More Beverly Hills. I guess you'll tell me if I was right or not. I'm having Lisa/Sarah/Zondra take an active role behind-the-scenes in combatting the sex abuse that permeated (permeates?) Hollywood and (somewhat) gave rise to the MeToo movement a few years later. In addition to the disturbing stories that came out at the time, I have heard firsthand anecdotes from a friend of a friend who was working in the industry. The stories he told me about being the victim of sexual abuse, long before MeToo, were horrible. And he's a straight cis white guy. And they were still horrible. I hate to think about what happened to more vulnerable people.
A/N4: Harry Weinberg. Harvey Weinstein. I first mentioned my version in passing back in chapter 88, at the Von Vogel party. The real-life version is currently serving (as of 8/22) a 23-year prison sentence resulting from a conviction in New York State (and is facing a separate trial in California). In this story justice was swift and satisfying, but we may find more long-lasting justice to come for Mr. Weinberg as time goes by.
A/N5: What do you think?