Elisa steps into the office having no idea what's coming her way. It's never a good sign when the boss looks grim, flanked by in-house lawyers, and they're waiting for you across the conference table. She sits where she's told to sit. It's late afternoon and her day should be winding down, not being put on the hot seat.
Printouts are placed in front of her. It's a client-account that she manages. Somehow $14,036,293 has been reduced to a clean $100 and she's stunned, reading and re-reading the figures. In all her years working finance, she's never presided over such losses in a short time, not while the markets are strong.
The papers beneath aren't much better. Legal documents are threatening the firm with a lawsuit and criminal charges. The client is furious and demands answers. Panic sinks in for Elisa, a shortening of breath because her career and possibly freedom hang on a thread.
A second blow strikes when she remembers the charming Italian man she'd been seeing months ago, who swept her off her feet during their fleeting romance, who'd been so enamored about the world of corporate finance. It's rare finding men who are fond of career-driven women. In retrospect, seeking that validation was the biggest mistake of her life.
"This wasn't me," she says.
Her voice is barely a whimper and the people in the room don't seem convinced. They also don't seem interested in whatever sob story she's offering, not when so much money is missing from a supposedly secure account.
Mr. Sorenson shakes his head. "Elisa, I hate this, but the evidence is damning. Money from the client's account went overseas. Your name and IP address are linked to these transactions."
"Can I explain?"
"You can try."
With a shaky voice she explains the love affair with the charming man who was profoundly interested in her career. She explains what a fool she'd been for being so trusting, for being excited to share details of her life with someone who cared. Or pretended to care.
"Suppose that's true," he says. "And I very much want to believe you. That doesn't change the fact that a client is preparing a major lawsuit. They're also talking about criminal charges. What do you think should happen next?"
"I... I don't know... you have to believe me..."
Although she remains stoic, she can't bring herself to finish that sentence and her eyes start to water. She doesn't cry. It's more that she's so overwhelmed by the serious accusation that it's hard to mount a proper defense.
"There might be another way," he says.
"What is it?"
"The client wasn't sure if you were the mastermind. They didn't think you were the type. And they like you. So, they're willing to compromise, if you're open to that."
In a flash the vibe in the room changes. The accusatory expressions disappear, replaced by a sense of embarrassment over where this leads.
"Okay, whatever it takes," she says. "I know I'm responsible for the money, but I'm also the victim here. I'm more than willing to cooperate."
A female lawyer in her 50's opens a briefcase and pulls out a short stack of documents, passing it to Elisa for review. The funny thing is that they'd known each other for years, not quite friends, but they'd always been friendly in the hallways or office areas, making small talk about whatever.
Now there's coldness between them, business is business, and Elisa is on the short end of the stick as she reads the documents. Working at different places, she's seen plenty of non-disclosure agreements before. But why now? She skims until she sees that she's expected to sign.
"That ensures discretion from all parties," the lawyer says. "From this moment forward, no one will know about the embezzlement. No one will know about the remedies, either. All you have to do is sign the document."
"And if I refuse? I mean, should I consult with an attorney first?"
When the boss and lawyers look at each other, wondering who should explain this deal, Elisa's hands clasp under the table, bracing herself, having a creeping feeling that her life will never be the same again. And it won't. The fact is, millions of dollars are missing and it all points to her.
A week later she arrives at the facility with a sense of resignation. It's a Singapore owned development hub for the American market. Part office space, part research, part manufacturing. In the lobby Elisa gives her name. She's escorted to the third floor where Ms. Lim comes over and greets her with a handshake and smile.
"So good to meet you," Ms. Lim says.
"Yes, it's a pleasure."
Maybe not the best choice of words, because this doctor, although petite and friendly wearing a lab coat, is the person who's going to change her life. They walk and talk and enter the research area. Lab technicians are working on different products, from silicon to polymers. Products used for women and their beauty.
To more recently, something else...
Elisa is taken to a room that resembles a doctor's office, with an exam table and cluttered desk with a stack of legal documents. She's informed that everything on those pages are standard procedure. Everything had previously been explained to her so she signs the documents and hopes to get this over with.
"Very good," Dr. Lim says. "Please undress from the waist down. My assistants will be with you shortly."
Elisa is left alone in the office with the door open and she takes a deep breath before slipping off her shoes. It's just like a doctor's appointment, she tells herself, nothing more, nothing less. Although it's taken the last few days to accept that this will be the most demanding thing she's ever done.
Her pants come off, so do her panties and socks, leaving her bare from the waist down. She had a Brazilian wax yesterday so she's smooth around the crotch. Her bare feet are on the floor, and at this point, being probed and prodded are the least of her worries.
Two young women enter the room, both Singaporean, both with limited English, and after exchanging pleasant smiles, they instruct Elisa to lay on the exam table. They're carrying trays containing instruments and materials needed for the casting process. After taking a glance, she looks away, because she'd rather not know.
She's staring at the ceiling while her knees are up and her feet are spread at the edge of the exam table. She reminds herself that these are professionals. The assistants clean the area around her vagina with an antiseptic solution. Petroleum jelly is next applied. They explain that this prevents the mold from sticking to her body and makes it easier to remove later.
With the preparation complete, the assistants pour the silicone casting material into Elisa's vagina. They work together, slowly and deliberately, to ensure that the material is evenly distributed and there are no air bubbles trapped inside. Intrusive. Uncomfortable. Strange. Nothing can prepare a woman for this, the absolute fullness inside her body, the pliable texture of silicone.
"30 minutes, then we're done. Would you like some music?"
"No, I'm fine."
The assistant pats Elisa's thigh and they leave the room with the door open. She's left with her thoughts. How could life have brought her here? Doing this? She should be in the office, making trades, working with numbers, that's the only thing she's ever been good at.
