I called Dr. Patricia Morrison at 8 AM the next morning.
She was my clinical supervisor, the person who reviewed my cases and signed off on my license renewals. If anyone could help me get out of this, it was her.
"Nina?" Her voice was warm but surprised. "It's early. Everything okay?"
"I need to refer a client." My hands shook as I paced my tiny apartment. "Court-mandated case. Zachary Hale. I don't think I'm the right fit."
Silence on the other end.
"The Zachary Hale? Eight billion dollars? That Zachary Hale?"
"Yes."
More silence. Then: "Why do you want to refer him?"
"He's crossing boundaries. Accessing my personal information. Making me uncomfortable." I stopped pacing. "I don't feel safe treating him."
"Has he threatened you?"
"Not explicitly, but—"
"Has he violated any specific ethical guidelines during your sessions?"
I thought about it. He'd been perfectly professional during both actual sessions. The text message was inappropriate, but not technically unethical. The banking information he'd accessed was illegal, but he'd done it outside of therapy.
"Not during sessions, no."
"Then you have a problem." Patricia's voice turned serious. "Court-mandated clients have legal protections. If you terminate without documented cause, he can sue you for abandonment. It would be his word against yours about anything that happened outside the office."
My stomach dropped. "I can't afford a lawsuit."
"I know." She sighed. "Nina, I've reviewed your practice finances for licensing purposes. You're barely staying afloat. A lawsuit would destroy you. Even if you won, the legal fees alone would bankrupt you."
"So I'm trapped."
"Document everything. Every boundary violation, every concerning interaction. Build a case for why terminating is clinically necessary. But until you have that documentation, you need to continue treating him."
My throat tightened. "He offered me a job, Patricia. Twenty thousand dollars a month to consult for his company."
"Jesus Christ." Papers rustled on her end. "You didn't take it, did you?"
"No. But he knew I needed money. Knew exactly how much debt I have, when my father's surgery is scheduled, everything."
"That's manipulation. Classic psychopath behavior." Her voice softened. "But it's not grounds for termination unless it happened during a session. Did it?"
"Yes. He offered during our second session."
"Okay. That's something. But one incident isn't enough. You need a pattern. Multiple documented violations." She paused. "Can you handle seeing him a few more times while you build a case?"
I looked around my apartment. The eviction notice still sat on my desk. My father's medical bills were piled beside it. My checking account was almost empty.
"I need the income from his sessions."
"I know." Patricia's voice was gentle. "And he knows that too. That's why he chose you, Nina. You're vulnerable. Controllable. That's not your fault, but it's reality."
"So what do I do?"
"Keep seeing him. Document everything meticulously. Don't accept any offers outside of therapy. Maintain strict boundaries. And the moment you have enough documentation, we'll terminate with cause." She hesitated. "Can you do that? Treat him professionally while he's actively trying to manipulate you?"
I pressed my hand to my forehead. "I don't know."
"If you truly can't, I'll help you find a way out. But understand, it will cost you financially. Possibly your practice entirely."
My practice. The thing I'd worked ten years to build. It was failing, but it was mine.
"I'll document everything."
"Good. Call me immediately if anything escalates. And Nina?" Her voice turned firm. "Don't take that consulting job. No matter how desperate things get. That's exactly what he wants."
We hung up.
I sat on my couch, staring at my phone.
Trapped. I was completely trapped. I couldn't quit without risking a lawsuit I couldn't afford. Couldn't keep treating him without risking my sanity. Couldn't take his job offer without compromising everything I'd worked for.
But I needed the money. God, I needed the money so badly.
My phone buzzed. Text message.
Unknown number.
My heart raced as I opened it.
'Dr. Reeves, I owe you an apology.'
I stared at the screen. Zachary.
'I overstepped yesterday. Badly. I accessed information I had no right to access. I made you uncomfortable in your own office. That was wrong.'
Another message came through.
'I'm asking for one more chance. I'll respect boundaries better. No more texts outside sessions unless you initiate. No more accessing your private information. Just therapy, the way it's supposed to be.'
I started typing a response, then stopped. Deleted it.
Another message appeared.
'I understand if you want to terminate our sessions. I'll tell the court the arrangement isn't working. You won't face any legal consequences. I'll make sure of it.'
My finger hovered over the keyboard.
He was offering me an exit. Clean, simple, no lawsuit.
But if I quit, I lost the four fifty per session. Lost the only substantial income I had. Lost any chance of paying for my father's surgery.
And he knew that.
Another message.
'But I hope you don't quit. I think you're the first therapist who actually understands what I am. Who doesn't try to fix me or fear me or pity me. You just see me clearly. That's rare.'
My chest tightened.
'Please give me one more chance to do this right. I promise I'll be better.'
I stared at the messages.
This was manipulation. Obviously, clearly manipulation. He was backing off precisely enough to make me doubt my decision to quit. Making himself vulnerable so I'd feel guilty. Offering me an exit while simultaneously making me not want to take it.
I knew all of this.
And I was going to say yes anyway.
My fingers moved across the screen.
'One more chance. But any violation of boundaries and we're done. No discussion.'
His response came instantly.
'Understood. Thank you, Nina. I won't disappoint you.'
I set down my phone, my hands shaking.
I'd just agreed to keep treating a diagnosed psychopath who'd invaded my privacy, manipulated my vulnerabilities, and offered to buy my compliance.
Because I needed the money.
Because I was desperate.
Because some sick part of me wanted to keep seeing him.
My phone buzzed one more time.
'And Nina? I meant what I said. You are rare. Don't let anyone make you feel otherwise.'
I closed my eyes.
Patricia's voice echoed in my head: "That's exactly what he wants."
But what I wanted was becoming impossible to separate from what he wanted me to want.
And that terrified me more than anything else he'd done.
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