One Year Later

There have been rumors and vague speculation. I want to begin to share the truth, and explain where I’m at.
Last year at exactly this time, my life looked completely different. I was building something I was proud of, working constantly, moving fast. And then I met a man who is highly influential in New Jersey — politically, and across business, law enforcement, and medicine.
He portrayed himself as a good person. Because of the immense institutional support he had, and because (I know now) he is a very talented narcissist, I let myself fall in love with him. I never cared about what a person looks like; I’m attracted to people for who they are. I took a risk and placed my trust in him.
We met in April. Became inseparable fast. I traveled with him to Atlanta and we created a medical STI testing lab. He helped me build my company’s website for free with his tech guy — a man who has been to every country and is a ghost online.
Long story short. As short as this strange tale can be.
By June I left him. I had no idea what was in store for me. Nobody says no to this man. He vowed to destroy me. I thought he was exaggerating.
I went to the police for a restraining order and was told I’d never get one, and to get lost. I was slapped with a restraining order against me that very same day.
Within days I left my home, because my home security system was hacked repeatedly and unauthorized entries to my home were happening. My phones were hacked. Every single account I had — from Apple to Meta to Google — was compromised, and I was locked out.
He tried to have me arrested over his gun that was at my place, in a state where mandatory minimums, even with no criminal history, are 3 to 10 years for firearms. He took down my company’s website. He accused me of fraud to my bank and to the event company I worked with. I lost access to my own businesses. I had invested over $100k of my own money, worked myself to the bone, and grown everything from an idea I came up with into a successful operation with 16 people working under it. I was extremely proud of it, and two weeks before launch he tore it all from my hands.
My life was being threatened. My family’s lives were being threatened, including my small children.
I took my family to a hotel to hide out, and then I was doxxed to my 25,000 followers online. It was clear there was nowhere to hide.
The police? They left me to die. Literally. There was no one to help me.
I felt like I was going to vomit every minute of every day. I had to teach my five-year-old to run away if someone came to hurt me. I will never forget the agony of realizing I was totally unable to protect my kids. My life, and our lives, were in his hands.
I had never been confronted with an impossibly powerful force. I faced myself, and at what I believed to be the end of my life, I asked for two things only.
One: please, don’t harm my family.
Two: please, allow me some dignity.
You know where I am. You don’t have to drag me out. I will walk. I will not resist. I will not scream or cry or beg. And I knew these were requests I had no control over.
I got taken in a car at 3am, and when I was released as the sun rose, I will never forget the absolute beauty of that moment. I was alive.
The next day, he ambushed me. The days after, he had me hospitalized.
He moves in medicine, law enforcement, and politics, and people in those worlds protect him. He’s held positions that gave him real institutional power for a long time. He knows everyone.
Who am I? He called me crazy after terrorizing me for weeks.
I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. Every noise, I jumped up thinking this is it. They’re here. We’re all dead.
There I was saying my phones are hacked and he’s trying to kill me. I hadn’t learned yet that the calmest person in the room wins. The truth isn’t relevant. The system rewards whoever appears believable, and the system always protects itself.
Drug addict. Manic. Delusional. Paranoid. Dangerous.
Labels hurled at me and believed without hesitation. Stigma used to discredit me on sight.
Two restraining orders against me. Two kidnappings, while he told police he was the one trying to get away from me.
I escaped and begged for help, and I ended up in handcuffs. He tried to hospitalize me a second time. The psychiatrist saved me. I will always thank him. He saw a broken, terrified woman, and he believed me. Finally.
He took me again. I watched everything. I listened to everything. I calculated the risk to my family and myself. He was acting more reckless. He seemed nervous. I had had enough.
I escaped in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania. I had to contemplate, very seriously, whether life in prison was better than being his slave. It wasn’t hypothetical. It changes you when you confront what you’re capable of to save your own life.
But I ran one last time. On foot. Walked and walked. Discarded the latest phone he gave me after destroying my real devices. Took cash I had secretly saved and got a dollar store phone. Called the only number I knew by heart.
I had no social media. No numbers. No one knew where I was or what was happening. I was totally alone.
I called my ex, and he drove six hours to come get me. The worker at the front desk helped me hide while I waited.
And then August came. I went to court for the second restraining order he had against me. He performed the sad boyfriend just trying to help his crazy girlfriend, and he performed it very well for the judge.
As soon as he dropped it, I filed against him. I felt the associates of his who had been attacking me back off. To this day I have never incriminated anyone but him.
They granted the restraining order. The first win I’d had since the day I asked for help and got nothing.
But it wasn’t over.
I was facing eviction, because he never paid my rent like he said he would. Nothing had been paid, and my life at that time was very expensive. I had paid all my deposits back out of my own bank account — over $30k. I went from the top of everything to liquidating my savings so my family could survive while I pulled it all back from the brink.
Constant hacking. Bricked phones. The things that happened tech-wise are usually reserved for political dissidents in countries not like ours. He had a lot of favors from a lot of people. People who don’t have to follow laws because no one ever holds them accountable.
By September I saved my housing. I was starting from less than zero. Traumatized. Really not okay. But I had no time to rest. Keep going.
I spent days staring into space. I lost track of time. I couldn’t communicate with people normally. I had no ability to hold connections. Friends didn’t understand and dropped off. My long stretches of quiet caused offense. They didn’t understand how I could lose entire weeks in a PTSD haze. And I realized how little I cared anyway. I became fine with being alone.
But I had to work. I carry my whole family on my back. There was no other option.
By October I decided I had to be honest with myself. I cannot live without justice. The summer of terror had given way to simmering rage.
I think of my son, my little boy, picking up a butter knife and promising to protect me. I think of my kindergartener innocently declaring, “Hey mom, remember when you told us — if anything bad happens, run?” I think of missing my oldest daughter’s 8th grade graduation because I was fighting for my life. I think about my other daughter watching me leave against my will. I had to tell my mother to hold her back, and not to call the police if I didn’t come home. She’s still riddled with anxiety and PTSD.
I decided I cannot accept him walking away. He crossed lines that cannot be crossed. And I did nothing but tell him no.
The only silver lining to living in constant fear for your life is that eventually nothing rattles you. I’m not scared. Not because I’m cocky — my nervous system has recalibrated to accept nearly anything. I have faced the core of who I am. I am unshakable in ways I never was before.
By December, after months of trying local police, I went to the county prosecutors. I filed a formal complaint with the body that oversees him, knowing I cannot undo that shot. It is a dangerous move. And I plan to see it through to the end.
Every investigation. Every avenue.
I have three internal affairs investigations into three police departments. I have a criminal investigation open into what was done to me. And a regulatory investigation is wrapping up soon.
It will be an entire year. It’s on my mind a lot lately. I’ve come far from the days of the PTSD haze that consumed me, but suddenly I find myself lost in thought and memory.
While I was barely functioning and clawing my way out of the destruction of my life, he kept living. He has yet to face a single consequence. And I’m not the first. I am the first who won’t capitulate to his threats.
I will have justice. There is no alternative for me.
Here we are. May. One year later.
There has been very little movement legally, and I am getting very impatient. I’m also not who I was last year.
If you read this far, thank you.
If you care about me, or if you’re simply here for the plot: stay tuned about my quest for justice. I will be more public about my story, and I have plans A through Z. I won’t be silenced, and I won’t accept less than justice.
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