#no way that woman wrote the your lovers stay my age thing in 2011

[lover-of-mine]

.

[soulofatiny]

No Fear, I’m Here... Ch.2: Fellaz

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genre: enemies to lovers, assassin, & mafia!au

word count: 3.7k

warning: none yet but it is an assassin au...

a|n: ***IMPORTANT PLEASE READ*** For those who have read Ch.1, I’ve made some minor changes. Previously, y/n’s affiliation was YG and the ceo of YG. However, I recently caught up with all the news surrounding the company at the moment, and I do not feel comfortable using his name. Therefore, “YG Banks” will be changed to “ZG” and the Boss’ name “Yang” will be changed to “Zang”. I apologize for this odd change but I just felt it was necessary. Thank you and happy reading!

Ch.3

masterlist

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“Nana! Listen to me! You killed me here on October 24, 2011. You. Killed. Me. You have taken my life and you will take others’ lives and feel no remorse doing it. You don’t feel any emotions and you will not feel any emotions except fear. Fear for your life. You will always and forever fear that someone is out there to take your life instead.”

You jolt awake hyperventilating. Cold sweat soaking the strands of your hair and goosebumps marking your body. You felt bile creeping up your throat and ran to the bathroom for its release. “So much for resting before a job…” This wasn’t anything necessarily new in your life. You’ve had the exact same dream numerous times in the past, never knowing what it meant. All you could see in your dream was always a body covered in blood, the face blurred out and the same voice that keeps telling you the same thing every time…

“You killed me.”

You most likely did.

“Fear for your life.”

You are.

You never knew when exactly you’ll have that dream so it was always either a hit or a miss of a dreamless night whenever you slept. Today, however, was definitely a miss. Actually, it’s been a miss the past couple of weeks and it’s getting to the point where you stay up to avoid that dream... It was definitely a bad idea to try to get some rest before a job...but you were getting desperate.

You groaned looking at the clock that read 7:00 p.m. “How fitting,” you thought. Nana is your codename, translating from the Japanese number, 7. It was assigned to you when you first arrived at ZG, being the 7th to arrive and used a fake name, [y/n] whenever it required you to give a name outside of the organization. Much like what you had to do for Yeosang.

7:03 p.m...You still had some time before you head to Fellaz, so you decided to take a shower. Whether if it’s to cleanse the cold sweat clinging to your body or the limited memories that haunted you, you didn’t know. You just needed to feel some sort of relief either way and not think about what’s going to happen in the next couple of hours. Stripping off your clothing, you stepped into the shower. Immediately feeling your tense shoulders ease upon the contact of the warm water and your mind began to wander back to when you first joined the organization.

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“The 7th one is supposed to arrive today. She finished her phase one training and should be ready for phase two. Eight through ten will be arriving the next day after her.”

“How about one through six?”

“They’re all displaying positive results. After seven through ten adjusts, I believe we’ll be able to go into phase three within the next 3 years.”

ZG nodded, “Then we’ll hold the initiation officially on October 24, 2011. No delays. Do not disappoint me, Mino.” And with that, Mino followed escorted his boss to his chauffeur waiting for him outside. Mino was in charge of running the phase two-training smoothly to ensure that everything will go according to the boss’ initiation program. He bowed deeply as the chauffeur drove his boss away from the facility. As Mino walked back inside, one of the workers notified him of your arrival. “Finally…”

You were told that you’ve graduated from phase one, where trainees were educated until they surpass the advanced level in all subjects of math, language, geography, analytical thinking while simultaneously receiving physical training that consisted various martial arts/combat styles, artillery, and blade training. There were many that started from birth, being raised in the facility nursery and officially start training once they learn how to walk and there were others that begin around toddler age but you couldn’t remember when you’ve started. Despite receiving the training from top tier educators, some simply may not possess the potential to be selected for ZG’s special program and were usually terminated. Which obviously isn’t you because you are currently blindfolded and being transferred via car to the building of phase two. They’ve never let you go beyond the walls that completed the perimeter of your first training building. You’ve heard stories of some trying to risk going beyond the walls and were immediately terminated. You felt the vehicle stop and the door opened with someone grabbing your arm to guide you out. You couldn’t see anything but you could hear at least two different footsteps excluding your own. You all kept on walking for a good while until you all halted and waited until a voice startled you. “Take your blindfold off.” You complied and immediately faced with a man perhaps in his 20’s but what caught your attention was his sharp eyes, almost snake-like and threatening aura that sent your body shivering in anxiousness. “You’re the 7th to arrive. If we wanted to address specifically at you, we’ll refer to you as ‘Nana’. How old are you?” You stood in silence and Mino was about to lose his patience until he remembered why “Speak.”

“I was told that I’m ten-years-old.”

“I see. I expect you to make it until phase three. My workers will guide you to meet your new educator. Do not disappoint me or you will be terminated.”

You immediately bowed deeply and Mino walked away. You looked up and saw the two men now exposed free from your blindfolds who presumably are Mino’s workers. One of the men signaled for you to walk and you complied. The building seemed sterile and the long hallways glistened with the fluorescent lights reflecting the glossy white floors, very much designed like your previous facility. You continued to walk, passing by many doors until the man in front of you stopped and pointed at the door of the room you’ll be residing. Before they both turned to leave you, you bowed deeply to show your acknowledgment. You were taught that you were allowed to bow to anyone in a higher up position than you at any given time, but were not allowed to speak before given permission. The two men nodded and walked away, leaving you to your new training. Until you could no longer see them, you finally knocked on the door. The door opened revealing a woman that had the corners of her mouth turned upwards and caught you off guard. From your previous studies, you’ve learned that this is what people would call a smile but it’s the first time you’ve witnessed one in person, how peculiar. “Hi! You must be Nana! We were expecting you! Come in, come in!” You bowed to indicate your greeting and walked in. The woman’s voice was loud in volume and she was still smiling. It looked painful for her cheeks but she continued, “I’m your head educator of phase two-training! Things will be very different from your phase one-training. First off, while you’re in this building, you do not need to ask for permission to speak. Just follow the basic speech mannerism that you’ve learned from your previous training but do so with your will of speaking.” You waited until she continued to speak but realized that she was waiting for you to speak so you mumbled a small, “Yes.” That was the very first time you spoke without permission and it honestly felt strange in your stomach. The woman stared at you, writing something down on her clipboard and smiled even harder, something you didn’t think was possible. “Perfect! Secondly, here, you will learn about emotions and try to enhance the stimulation of your feelings! I’m sure you must be confused but this is all very exciting and I can’t wait until you meet your family member!”

Confused…? Exciting…? Family…? You were familiar with the vocabulary from your studies but never heard them used in a sentence. Suddenly, the strange feeling in your stomach growing larger. The woman looked at you cautiously, “Ah, I’m sorry. You must be overwhelmed! You feel something in your stomach, don’t you?” You widen your eyes, “Y-yes…how did you know?” “Ah just right now! I just surprised you! You see, human emotions aren’t that hard to stimulate. You just need to understand which emotion is which. But don’t worry. You’ll get used it soon. Also, thank you for speaking first.”

You felt surprised yet once again. You got thanked for speaking… it was peculiar and overwhelming but you could even dare to say that you liked the feeling of tying all of these emotions being put in action. Your new teacher smiled softer until she spoke again, “Now follow me! It’s time to meet your family member! Here, you are assigned to a sibling. You both will play, have meals together, and hold conversations much like families in real life.” She pauses to take a quick look at her clipboard and continued, “Ah yes, your assigned family member is number 3! I see you go by the Japanese translation, but number 3 will be the Korean translation ‘Set’. Set is a male so looks like you have gained a brother!”

You decided to speak up softly, “May I ask a question?” The woman stared at you, wrote something down again, and answered, “Yes, of course!” Looking away from the clipboard but continued to write as you spoke, “Why are different translations used to refer Set and I’s numbers?” “There will actually be ten of you coming to phase two in total, numbers eight through ten will be arriving tomorrow. They will all have different translations for their numbers as well. I know you all learned multiple languages during your phase one training so it will help increase brain activity by mixing in different languages for daily use. At least that is what Boss Zang insisted. Honestly, it doesn’t make much sense to me but we just go with it,” ending her blurb with a wink. “Now, come on! Let’s go meet your brother!”

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You felt the water in your shower turning cold, indicating that it was probably time for you to get out.

Brother…...you had a brother. Set? You couldn’t remember what happened to him…. but now’s not the time to ponder upon it. It’s nearing 8 p.m. so you quickly dry your hair, pulling it up into a high ponytail with two shorter strands of hair framing the sides of your face perfectly. You decided to wear some makeup with a darker shade of eyeshadow that accentuated your eye color more. Opening your wardrobe, you sorted and changed into a short black satin dress and leather jacket, that matched with your heeled black thigh high boots. You open another wardrobe that wasn’t for your clothes but the inside filled with various sorts of weaponry.

It’s a jazz club…it’ll be loud but not loud enough to use a gun. You could always put a silencer on, but it was honestly a hassle to carry. Ultimately, you decided on two shorter blades that laid on your forearms, hidden well by your leather jacket. Although you exceeded in any weapon, you still exceeded with blades a little more. It was easy to carry, silent to kill, and easier to aim with the contact being closer. You didn’t think you would need it but you also decided to wear a thigh holster carrying your pistol, that hid underneath your dress just enough. It’s good to take precautions... You took one last look in the mirror, before heading out. Not too much, yet bold enough to charm people as you walk by. Perfect.

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Your heels clacked as you walked down the dimly lit alleyway, feeling the chilly wind sweep across the sides of your neck and thighs. You stopped, finally reaching to the bright illuminated sign of your destination placed on the wall of the brick building that read, “Fellaz”. The structure of the wall was old, to say the least. The bricks were definitely run down that seemed to be barely clinging to its assigned spot and the two metal doors that was seemingly intimidating in size. You pulled the handle on one of the doors, ignoring the sudden contact with the cold metal on the palm of your hand, and smoothly walked in. The door closed behind you, its heavy weight allowing it to do so automatically. However, instead of entering a room, you were only met with a stairway that led directly downstairs, immediately noticing a surveillance camera planted on the ceiling that was directly facing towards the entrance. Without hesitating, you began to walk down the steps, smelling a faint aroma of coffee and hearing the subtle sounds of brass instruments. Stepping your final step, you were surprised to see a modern chic cafe that contrasted greatly from the outer appearance of the building you saw only a few minutes ago. You examined the interior and were immediately connected with jazz music that came from the four men playing on the center stage at the very back of the room. The right side occupied the drink bar that was attended by a bartender, smalls candles were lit positioned on top of the round dining tables that were placed sporadically across the rest of the remaining area. Yunho was nowhere to be found, but you still had roughly 30 hours left to accomplish your task so there wasn’t any need to worry. You usually gather more information on the beginning portion of your timeframe, taking in the lifestyle they lived in completely,  and then finish them accordingly. Which is what you’re about to do as you sat on one of the unoccupied stools at the drink bar counter, the bartender smiling at you as you took your seat. He was handsome, really handsome. His blonde hair that swept over his forehead defined his strong facial features beautifully. “Scotch on the rocks, thank you,” you placed your order as you gave a small charming smile back.

“Ah, you must be new here. I’m sorry, we don’t sell alcohol, just coffee.”

“No alcohol? at a club?”

The bartender chuckled, “Yeah, I know. Strange right? My friend actually opened this place. Something about wanting people to appreciate music to the full capacity while being sober…blah blah blah….but I think it’s just because he’s a lightweight.” You chuckled at the bartender’s straightforward remark over his friend, “Well then, I would like an iced americano, um-“

“Seonghwa. Call me Seonghwa, and one iced americano on the house for?-“

“y/n, thank you.” With that, Seonghwa gave you a quick wink and started working on the espresso machine. Very flirtatious, you noted. It didn’t take long for Seonghwa to hand you your beverage since everyone that was sitting at the bar left to join the dining area. You nodded your head to thank him, getting ready to speak until Seonghwa beat you to it. “So y/n, what’s a charming young lady such as yourself doing at a small unknown jazz club like Fellas,” he asked as he took a sip of his own latte. You took a sip of your own drink before answering, “Ah, I have a strong love for music so my coworker recommended me this place. I’m glad I came. The place is beautiful and the musicians are extremely skilled.”  You weren’t exactly lying. The sounds of the instruments that reached to your ear calmed and soothed you completely despite what you’re going to do in the next day or two. Seonghwa nodded in understanding as he looked towards the stage fondly where the four men continued to play, “I agree. I’m honestly really proud to call them my friends.” “Is that so? Tell me more about them,” you leaned forward to show your interest.

“Hmm let’s see. The one playing the drums with the ash hair is Wooyoung. He’s almost as loud as he plays, but you can tell he’s passionate about everything he does. The tall one playing the saxophone is Mingi, he told me he first started to play the sax since he was in elementary. The one with the dark hair with red highlights playing the piano, that’s San. He seems really serious right now, but he’s actually a really cheerful guy. He’s only ever this serious if he’s ever in the zone. And then lastly, the one playing the violin, that’s Jongho. He’s the youngest out of our friend group and he actually sings really well. He’s almost too talented even though he’s the youngest.”

As Seonghwa finished his description, you could evidently see how much he adored them. “You said your friend group…are there more who also plays like them?”

“Oh no, there’s actually eight of us in total. Half plays while the other half simply appreciates the music,” Seonghwa said while laughing. You shared your laugh with him until a voice caught both you and Seonghwa’s attention. Your heart sped up slightly when you turned to see who it was. “Excuse me miss, is this seat taken-“ he asked in a lulling tone. “No, please go ahead,” you answered as you made eye contact, taking a full view of his face and soft yet prominent features.

It’s Yunho.

Yunho smiled upon your approval as he sat next to you and then looked at Seonghwa who was already looking at him, “Hey, hyung. Who’s this?”

“This is our newcomer, y/n.”

“Newcomer, huh?” Yunho questioned. You could feel his curiosity. They knew each other… You looked between the two men and asked, “Are you both acquainted with each other?”

“Yeah, this is actually one of the guys in our friend group that I talked about earlier,” Seonghwa answered and Yunho immediately looked at you.

“You both talked about me, huh?”

You would think he was suspicious but you couldn’t sense that aura coming from him…only his strong and confident presence that probed you, making you want to leave the scene but you continued, “Yeah, I’ve heard you also admire music? Seonghwa and I talked about how wonderful this place is-“

“Really? That’s fantastic,” Yunho said while cutting you off, the words he spoke not matching with the sarcastic tone in his voice. You tried to fight off throwing a glare at his domineering attitude but he continued, “So that explains why you’re sitting here, by yourself on a Tuesday night being nosy and snatching information from my good friend here? Because of your love for the aesthetics and music hmm?” You accidentally slipped away from your composure for a moment and shot a venomous glare at him until you caught yourself. You never lose your composure. Especially not by a couple of cheap words but Yunho’s spiteful demeanor was truly testing you. Yunho also looked at you with cold eyes, fully aware that he was pissing you off to the point where you lost it for a split second. “Guys please not at the cafe… Yunho, the boss said to welcome her, not piss her off,” Seonghwa scolded at Yunho, the tone of his voice changing slightly as well. Boss…he said, boss... This was a trap and you had to get out of there. Within that short moment, many scenarios ran through your head, trying to calculate which would outcome your survival. Should you kill them both now? But if you do, there’s still four of their men still waiting behind you on the center stage. They continued to play their instruments but you could undoubtedly feel their attention on the three of you. Plus, this is their territory…who knows how many more people that are sitting in the dining area are actually disguised as one of them, or worse, all of them. Yunho was resting his head on his propped hand, looking completely unfazed. Maybe you could at least strike the both of them and exit just fast enough- “Will you relax? I can sense you’re overwhelmed but it’s overwhelming me too,” Yunho spoke cutting the silence, his words not matching his actions yet once again. “We’ve been told that we’re not allowed to kill-“

Now.

You swung both of your arms, sliding your blades out within only a split second. Yunho was startled slightly but moved just as fast and grabbed both of your arms that was aiming to slice both Yunho and Seonghwa’s neck, restricting your movements. You grazed Yunho’s cheek, blood slowly trickling down his cheek but he managed to stop your other arm just in time before it was only a centimeter away from reaching Seonghwa’s artery. Yunho maintained his hold on your arms, still immobilizing you. His face only a few inches away but his cold eyes reached yours even deeper. His voice husky and lowered an entire octave, “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted… we’re not allowed to kill you but I just might considering I don’t remember the last time I followed rules-“

“Yunho, stop,” Seonghwa said, completely unaffected. Yunho, clearly angry, raised his voice, “Hyung, this bitch cut my cheek which by the way, wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t have to look after your ass too.” Seonghwa chuckled at his last remark, “You know I’m not the fastest.” Then Seonghwa turned to you and smiled, “Forgive Yunho. He has his moods sometimes, but he means no disrespect-“

“She tried to kill us, so why can’t we kill her?” Yunho said emphasizing each word full of spite, but he knew he wouldn’t receive an answer from Seonghwa so he turned to face you again, “Tell your bastard of a boss, that we don’t want or need you on our team.”

Wait, what..? What did he mean by on their team…?

Your thoughts were cut off when your phone suddenly rang. By the specific ringtone, you could tell it was your boss calling you. You knew Yunho wasn’t letting go of your arms any time soon so you brought your foot up and kicked him directly at his crotch. Yunho immediately winced in pain, freeing your arms, with Seonghwa trying to stabilize him stretching his arms over the counter. You turned around heard Yunho in the background cursing at you and swearing that he’s going to end your life but you ignored him and answered your call, “Boss.”

“Retreat your mission and come see me immediately. Things have changed...”

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e|n: I hope this chapter wasn’t too confusing because I’ve made some minor changes (as stated in the beginning) We’ve almost officially met all of the members! I hope you’ll continue to read to see Nana meeting all of them. You’ll definitely see more interaction with the members in the next chapter. If you have any questions or need any clarifications, just ask! Thanks for reading and please leave feedback so I’ll know where I can improve :)

[deniscollins]

It Was Business, It Was Personal: The Redstones’ Father-Daughter Feud

What would you do if you owned the multi-billion National Amusements, your physical and mental health were deteriorating, and you had a history of conflict with your daughter, son, and multiple Boards of Trustees, and had to decide on a succession plan? Why? What are the ethics underlying your decision?

In more than 50 years as a force in the media industry, Sumner M. Redstone clashed with his only son, his nephew, his wife, his romantic partners, his business rivals and the actor Tom Cruise.

In his most consequential battle, he took on his daughter, Shari E. Redstone.

On the surface, the two seemed unalike. Mr. Redstone, who died on Tuesday at 97, was an old-school, expletive-spraying mogul from a time when bosses asserted their power by screaming in the workplace. Ms. Redstone, 66, keeps a much lower profile.

Beneath the surface, they had a lot in common. Both were lawyers before they embarked on second careers in media, and their fine-print skills served them well as they worked out multibillion-dollar agreements on era-defining mergers and acquisitions. They also shared an iron will that helped Ms. Redstone to succeed her father as the leader of the family empire.

Their main sticking point was one that plagues many family businesses: succession. At the height of the conflict — when the patriarch was well into his 80s and still a Hollywood force — Mr. Redstone tried to buy out his daughter and publicly stated that she was not qualified to lead National Amusements, the parent company of Viacom and CBS, which he had inherited from his father and built into a giant.

The two reconciled in recent years as his health declined. In a statement on Wednesday, Ms. Redstone said, “Through it all, we shared a great love for one another and he was a wonderful father, grandfather and great-grandfather. I am so proud to be his daughter and I will miss him always.”

Before she joined the family business, Ms. Redstone went to law school at Boston University, got married, raised three children, baked cookies and worked as a criminal defense lawyer at a small Boston firm. She also pursued a degree in social work after volunteering at a trauma center for abused children.

For many years, she stayed away from National Amusements, a company that started as a string of drive-in theaters. Even when she was named its president in 1999, Mr. Redstone was unequivocally the boss.

In a prelude to the difficulties to come, the father and daughter had a disagreement over the worth of the company behind Mortal Kombat, a video game that pits opponents against each other in anything-goes combat.

Mr. Redstone had not been incorrect in perceiving, way back in 1983, that video games would be a significant part of the entertainment industry’s future. Over a 25-year period, he poured more than $500 million into Midway. But in the early 2000s, a time when National Amusements was in peril, Ms. Redstone objected to her father’s penchant for plowing money into the company; and she was not thrilled when he installed her on the Midway board in 2004.

Five years later, Midway filed for bankruptcy, leaving the headstrong mogul and his headstrong daughter with one less thing to fight about. By then, though, tensions were mounting.

Mr. Redstone, who once told a reporter that his daughter was “the love of my life,” dangled the possibility of her winning control of his empire — only to pull back when she seemed to be gaining power and influence. The two often clashed over executive compensation and board member selection.

In 2006, Ms. Redstone became nonexecutive vice chairwoman of both CBS and Viacom. The next year, the succession tussle went public when Mr. Redstone told a reporter that he wanted the CBS and Viacom boards to choose his successor. He called his daughter “a credible candidate,” while also floating the notion of buying her out.

In 2008, Mr. Redstone announced that his daughter would leave the boards of Viacom and CBS. For good measure, he said she “isn’t qualified” to fill his shoes.

Ms. Redstone did not wither. She cast the sole vote against his plan to renegotiate $800 million in debt. She refocused her attention on Advancit Capital, an investment firm she co-founded in 2011.

By then, a new combatant had entered the fray: Brent Redstone, Shari Redstone’s brother, who sued their father in 2006, seeking to break up National Amusements while claiming that he had been cast aside in favor of his sister. The case was eventually settled.

The succession issue simmered in the background during periods of estrangement between father and daughter. During a low point in 2015, Ms. Redstone wrote in an email to her son that “your grandfather says I will be chair over his dead body.”

The ups and downs were complicated by his illness and his tabloid-fodder private life. While the aging lion took his meals through a feeding tube in his Beverly Park mansion, Ms. Redstone battled Manuela Herzer, his former lover and live-in caretaker, for control of his daily care.

In 2015, Vanity Fair published an article on Ms. Herzer and another of Mr. Redstone’s late-life paramours, Sidney Holland. In the article, they both gushed about the gifts and money they had been given. Things got messier when Mr. Redstone took Ms. Herzer and Ms. Holland to court, accusing them of elder abuse, and the two women countered by suing Ms. Redstone, claiming she had turned her father against them.

Around that time, Ms. Redstone and Mr. Redstone made peace. As she cared for him in the mansion, he communicated through an iPad that was configured with three replies: yes, no and an unprintable term he used to express affection.

Mr. Redstone ceded his role as executive chairman at Viacom and CBS in early 2016. Then he gave up his board seats. Those were largely symbolic moves, since his stake in the companies gave him firm command.

Father and daughter also joined forces to fight the Viacom board, which challenged Mr. Redstone’s mental competency in court in 2016.

Mr. Redstone’s death has bolstered his daughter’s influence over National Amusements. His voting stock in the company — an 80 percent share — will transfer to a seven-member trust that includes Ms. Redstone and her son, Tyler Korff, along with Jill Krutick, a longtime family friend, and four lawyers with ties to the Redstones. Ms. Redstone holds the remaining 20 percent of National Amusements through a separate trust.

The main trust owns controlling shares in National Amusements, which in turn controls about 80 percent of the voting rights in ViacomCBS, the company that resulted from a 2019 merger led by Ms. Redstone.

The structure of the empire built by Mr. Redstone is complex — but Ms. Redstone is at the top.

Father-daughter duos are rare in the upper echelons of corporate America, and combative ones even more so, said Rita McGrath, a professor at Columbia Business School and the head of its Women in Leadership program. She noted that Hugh Hefner had a long working relationship with his daughter, Christie Hefner, who was chief executive of Playboy Enterprises for 20 years; and that Abigail Johnson took over Fidelity Investments in 2014, after her father, Edward Johnson III, ran the business for nearly four decades. The Redstones operated more like a wolf pack, Ms. McGrath said.

“You can only have so many alphas in one room,” she said.

Ms. McGrath pointed to Ms. Redstone’s skill in assembling allies under pressure, adding, “She was actually incredibly effective at pulling together a coalition of very smart people who were willing to challenge Sumner, who were basically betting their careers that she’d be able to come out on top. Forty years ago, you wouldn’t be seeing people taking that kind of bet on a woman.”

In May 2019, Ms. Redstone made an appearance at a lavish fete at the Plaza hotel thrown by CBS to court business during its annual presentation to advertisers. A receiving line of network executives and on-air stars lined up to greet her as trays of mini cheeseburgers and pinot noir circulated.

It was her party.

[syrolecep-blog]

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Leon Wieseltier: A Reckoning

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Leon Wieseltier: A Reckoning

It was never an “open secret” among me and my then-colleagues that Leon Wieseltier, the longtime literary czar of The New Republic, behaved inappropriately with women in the workplace. It was simply out in the open. This week, Wieseltier’s previously forthcoming culture magazine was suspended, and Wieseltier publicly apologized for past misconduct. Multiple women have complained of sexual harassment they say occurred during much of his three-decade reign at The New Republic. (Emerson Collective, which owns a majority stake in The Atlantic, was the financial backer of the now-scrapped publication. Wieseltier was also a contributing editor at The Atlantic until today, when Jeffrey Goldberg, the editor-in-chief, announced in a note to staffers that the magazine is severing its ties with him.)

I spent 12 years at The New Republic, starting in 1999 at age 28—a relatively long tour at a publication where young staffers often left after only a few years in its poorly paid trenches. During that time, Leon and I were more or less friends, as were our spouses. (My husband also worked as an editor at the magazine for years.) Leon and I attended one another’s weddings, I went to his wife’s baby shower, he would come to my office to chat, and I would occasionally grab drinks with him after work. All of which may sound slightly odd now—but will sound much odder as I go along.

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As a result, I have perhaps more “Leon stories” than some of my former colleagues, well over a dozen of whom I have been talking with as the accusations have boiled over into the public sphere. Everyone’s experience was unique, of course. But many—and what has been eye-opening is just how many there are—share striking similarities. And on one point, almost everyone seems to agree: With Leon, things were complicated.

When a young woman started work at The New Republic, she would be swept into Leon’s glittering welcome wagon. Maybe it would be lunch at one of his favorite haunts (The Palm, back in his heyday) or a cozy chat (and maybe a sip of bourbon) in his office. The venue shifted, but the purpose was constant: to gauge the newest member of the family’s potential as a playmate.

For Leon, women fell on a spectrum ranging from Humorless Prig to Game Girl, based on how much of his sexual banter, innuendo, and advances she would put up with. Once he figured out where to place you, all else flowed from there. “He was good at figuring out which things he could say to which people—knowing where you could push somebody’s limits,” recalls Rachel Morris, an executive editor at HuffPost who was TNR’s managing editor, then an executive editor, from 2010 to 2014.

My own Leon test took place after a party that The New Republic was hosting in New York City shortly after I came aboard. Afterward, Leon was eager to show me the hotel where he was staying (it had some connection to old New York literary types), so he invited me to its bar for a drink. When we arrived, however, he decreed the bar too crowded and insisted we go up to his room and order room service. (If I recall correctly, champagne—a Leon favorite.) There, I spent an awkward hour or so with his name-dropping (at one point, he answered the phone, then shared with me that Tina Brown wanted him to come have drinks with her and David Bowie); grilling me about my personal life (even then I was living with my husband-to-be); and relishing my obvious discomfort at the situation.

A common refrain I’ve heard as women have been dragged back into their memories: Whatever else he was aiming for, Leon delighted in making young women sexually uncomfortable.

That night in Leon’s room, I made clear I was in a serious relationship. And after our drink, I headed back to my hotel unscathed, if weirded out. But I also had shown that I was willing to hang out with Leon in intimate settings, drink with him, and laugh at his naughty stories. And so the parameters of our relationship were set.

As for the bulk of my Leon experience, it was pretty standard: He made constant comments about my looks and clothes—including the time he left a CD on my desk as a gift, along with a thank-you note for the mini-skirt I was wearing that day. I don’t think I ever wore a skirt to the office again.

I was not the only one receiving such fashion critiques. “I remember one time I was wearing a black shift-like dress and black tights,” recalls Amanda Silverman, an editor at Mother Jones who did two stints at The New Republic between 2008 and 2014. “A male colleague, who was a friend of mine, teased me that I looked like I was going to a funeral. Leon overheard the conversation and said, ‘The only problem with that dress is that it’s not tight enough.’” Hillary Kelly, a contributor to Glamour magazine who worked at The New Republic from 2009 to 2014, adds, “More than once, before a function outside the office, he’d tell me to ‘wear something tight’ and then wink or smile.”

One of Leon’s favorite topics of discussion was his sexual history. I was far from the only staffer with whom he shared graphic tales of his lovers and sexploits from his wilder days. (By the time I came along, Leon was with his now-wife.) “Unsolicited, he told me a long, detailed story about how magnificent his long-ago girlfriend’s breasts were,” says Kelly.

Leon also ribbed me about my sex life, which was more than a little awkward once my husband-to-be joined the staff. And while my partner’s presence kept Leon in check in some ways, it also gave him another avenue of teasing. He repeatedly suggested that, before I officially got hitched, he and I needed to go out on a proper date so I could slip into something super sexy and we could paint the town red. (Never happened.)

Of course, any sort of sexy talk would do. Seyward Darby, the executive editor of The Atavist Magazine, who held a couple of different editorial positions at The New Republic between 2008 and 2011, recalls a 2009 column Leon wrote on circumcision, its place in Jewish culture, and its effects (or lack thereof) on male pleasure. Leon sent her the document, titled “foreskin,” and then went into her office to watch her read it: “When I told him that the word ‘foreskin’ as a document title had raised my eyebrows, he said sarcastically, ‘Oh, report me to HR!’ Then he left. In the same timeframe, he gave a fellow female colleague ‘a book of portraits of Jesus with hard-ons.’ He told her to ‘take it home and really have fun with it tonight.’”

Eliza Gray, a freelance writer, had a similar experience in 2010, early in her tenure as a reporter-researcher at The New Republic: “Leon suggested I come see him so we could fact-check his column together, which is strange, since the process doesn’t require in-person communication. The piece must have mentioned something about art or beauty, because he picked up an art book and showed me a picture of a naked male marble sculpture and asked me, ‘Isn’t that the most erotic picture you have ever seen?’ It was a long time ago, but I do remember feeling the kind of heightened vigilance one feels when speaking in front of a crowd, or walking on a dark street at night. I think he enjoyed using the sexual subject matter to make me feel uncomfortable.”

Then there was the touching. Leon is a famously “touchy” guy. He doles out kisses—on cheeks, lips, foreheads—and dispenses hugs and grabs shoulders and pats legs. His friends (myself included) came to think little of it. But it made many women on staff exceedingly uncomfortable.

“Leon kissed me on the lips under the guise of congratulating me on a life event,” recalls Katherine Marsh, a writer of children’s books who was managing editor and deputy editor at The New Republic from 2005 to 2009. “I have been hugged and even cheek-kissed by plenty of male colleagues but this raised my alarm bells. I told several family members at the time because it creeped me out. I felt uncomfortable around him for pretty much the rest of my time at TNR. I remember warning a new female colleague, Britt Peterson, not to be in a room alone with him.”

Marin Cogan, a freelance writer who was a reporter-researcher and assistant editor at the magazine from 2007 to 2009, notes, “Last week, I put ‘Leon kissed me’ into the search bar of my email, and to my surprise, four incidents popped up. I’d completely buried it. In all of these incidents”—none were on the mouth, Cogan clarifies—“I told coworkers, and we all just treated it as an awkward but not uncommon fact of working at TNR.”

“Leon would take every opportunity he could to touch me, including kissing me on the face when I did tasks for him,” recalls Kelly. “He was notorious for the forehead kiss, which involved putting his hands on either side of your face so you were stuck inside. It was, ‘Very good job, little girl. This is your reward.’”

And, of course, there were those occasions when Leon would push even those boundaries. On a couple of occasions, after a few drinks, he hit me with an abrupt, decidedly non-platonic kiss. (Yes, a hint of tongue was involved in those cases.) This did not happen often and was a move just comic enough he could brush it off as a half-joke.

Decidedly not a joke was what happened to Sarah Wildman, a writer at Vox who worked at The New Republic from 1999 to 2003: “One night most of the staff went out. Leon cornered me by the bathroom and kissed me. I clapped my hand over my mouth and he said, ‘I’ve always known you’d do that.’ I felt terrible afterwards.”

Another classic Leon move: More than once, when he and I were out for drinks, he would pass along a mundane bit of office gossip, suggest it was a great secret, and tell me that if I ever revealed it to anyone, he’d “tell people we’re fucking.” He framed it as a joke, but it was a joke-as-threat.

Which brings us to the awkwardness of Leon Stories. As woman after woman has stressed, Leon’s was not a Harvey Weinstein or Roger Ailes type of predation. No one I spoke with was ever physically afraid of him. Yes, some feared his ability to make their lives miserable and ruin their futures. (No one ever doubted his ability to do this.) Leon had a reputation for turning hard on those who displeased him. Upon joining The New Republic, most people knew (or quickly learned) not to get on Leon’s bad side. Bad Leon could be scary, no matter where you fell on the org chart.

As a close intimate of the magazine’s owner, not to mention a quasi-celebrity himself who hobnobbed with the likes of Barbra Streisand and Kirk Douglas, Leon was the most powerful person at the magazine—regardless of who was the top editor at any given moment.

“It felt like Leon could make or break my career,” says Kelly. “Seeing how he treated people he had once worked with and had a falling out with—the way he could just turn off the kind and generous person he could be—it could be terrifying. I lived in horror of alienating or upsetting him in some way.”

“When he was suggestive with me,​ I laughed it off, made it a joke,” says Sacha Zimmerman, a senior editor at The Atlantic who held a range of jobs at The New Republic from 2001 to 2014. “Any other reaction sure seemed like a quick way to get ostracized at TNR.”

“I didn’t feel like there was ever any recourse for his behavior because he was treated as a powerful, even untouchable, person, certainly more important and indispensable than me,” says Marsh. “I was managing editor—one of the senior-most women on staff—and I felt as if I couldn’t protect myself, let alone younger women.”

At the same time, many women longed to be in what one called “the sunlight” of Good Leon. Complicating matters, the owner of the magazine during my tenure, Martin Peretz, had a reputation as a scorching sexist (a tale for another day), and the magazine was seen as something of a boys’ club. Leon always presented himself as a champion of women, which in many cases he was: He helped some women fine-tune pieces, he introduced them to famous and powerful people, he helped them find jobs a step up the career ladder.

“Leon was the one who ​gave me a column,” says Zimmerman. “He advised me; he ​helped me get a new job. He was important to me—and he was also unquestionably inappropriate with women.”

“Like many women, I fell in a trap of being demeaned by him and yet finding myself looking to him for assistance,” says Marsh. “Several years after the incident, I emailed to ask him for career help. I feel quite ashamed of this now.”

“I owe a great deal to his support and his mentorship,” says the book critic and author Ruth Franklin, who held multiple editorial positions, including as Leon’s associate literary editor, from 1999 to 2014. “It was no secret that Leon regularly acted inappropriately with many women on staff, including me, but his actions were largely overlooked because he wielded enormous power and because he was often charming, funny, and brilliant. Regardless of what he intended, numerous women found his actions and remarks patronizing, insulting, or damaging.”

As a senior political writer, I didn’t look to Leon for mentoring. Even so, I wanted to stay in his good graces—not merely because I feared Bad Leon, but because Good Leon could be, yes, incomparably charming, funny, and brilliant. I rationalized that I could “handle” the rest and that his low-level lechery was simply the cost.

Should I have slugged him at some point? Probably. More responsibly, I should have lodged a formal complaint. At the very least, I should have had the sense not to accept Leon’s invitations for post-work drinks. But I was ever so much more tolerant and conflict-averse then than I am now, and life is full of regrets.

Indeed, what I am regretting most is having thought only about how I could or could not “handle” Leon. I did not think in terms of how uncomfortable he may have been making the more junior women on staff. Listening to their stories now breaks my heart, especially as so many of them are feeling guilt-ridden and “complicit.” (How many times have I heard that word this week?) They blame themselves for rolling their eyes instead of loudly saying, “Stop”; for not having been stronger or braver; for not standing up for themselves and demanding more respect because, well, with Leon it was … complicated.

Stop beating yourself up, ladies. These things are always complicated. But they are not your fault. They never were.

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