As the cool night air settled over Utah's Lake Powell, Elizabeth Moore feigned sleep. Eyes closed, she listened as the Mercato Partners cofounder Greg Warnock stepped into the living room of his houseboat. She felt Warnock's hand squeeze her arm as he whispered her name over and over, softening his voice so as not to wake the only other employee on the boat, who was sleeping on a nearby couch.
Moore pretended to wake. Her boss, a well-connected Utah venture capitalist with a mop of gray hair and rumpled shorts, asked her if she wanted to watch a movie. Her heart raced.
The two met almost two decades before when Moore's husband worked with Warnock at a different firm, and they stayed friends through the years. Warnock hired her husband again at Mercato. Moore and Warnock would often give each other friendly hugs, and during the coronavirus outbreak, he invited her and other employees on the boat to work and rest.
Though the trips weren't mandatory, Moore didn't feel as if she could say no to her boss. They moved to a movie theater in the center of the boat. Warnock pushed an ottoman into a corner of the sectional, closed the blinds, and locked the door.
He drew her close and ran his fingers across her thighs. Then he took her head in his hands and laid it on his barrel chest. Moore sat rigid, fear locking her in place.
Warnock lifted her shirt and brushed her stomach, his breath becoming fast and heavy. Panicked, Moore got up and said it was time for bed. "You always know righ.