Rose McGowan's high-profile remarks triggered a chain reaction.
One after another, more actresses began stepping forward to expose Harvey Weinstein's disgraceful behavior.
The day after Rose spoke out, another actress came forward: Ashley Judd.
Judd was relatively more well-known than McGowan, though still not an A-lister.
Her encounter with Harvey dated back to 1996, and her experience closely mirrored McGowan's.
At the time, Ashley Judd was a rising star. She was invited to Harvey Weinstein's hotel suite under the pretense of discussing a role.
But the moment she entered the room, she found Weinstein in a bathrobe, lying on a sofa, and asking her to give him a massage.
Judd desperately wanted to leave, but fearful of offending such a powerful figure in the industry, she reluctantly complied and gave him the massage.
Then Weinstein made further, more inappropriate demands. Unable to endure any more, Judd politely but firmly refused and fled the room as quickly as she could.
The voices of Rose McGowan and Ashley Judd made waves across North America, but it was the accusation from Oscar-winning actress Gwyneth Paltrow that catapulted the scandal to a national level.
Frankly, no one had expected Gwyneth to speak out—not even Harvey himself.
After all, for nearly two decades, Paltrow's career had been closely intertwined with Weinstein's. She was one of Miramax's most prized stars.
The two were photographed together countless times at public events.
When she won the Academy Award for Best Actress in 1999 for Shakespeare in Love, it was widely seen as one of Harvey's masterclasses in Oscar campaigning.
At the time, Gwyneth even had a nickname: The First Lady of Miramax.
What she recounted, however, differed in tone and content from the testimonies of McGowan and Judd.
In front of the media, Gwyneth Paltrow burst into tears and described how, at age 22, just starting out in the industry, she had been invited by Weinstein to a hotel suite where he attempted to seduce her.
She rejected him and left immediately, then confided in friends and family—most notably, her boyfriend at the time, Brad Pitt.
Allegedly, Pitt later confronted Weinstein at a film premiere and warned him not to go near Gwyneth again.
Following that, Weinstein supposedly called Paltrow in a rage, demanding to know why she had spread word of the incident.
Gwyneth, fearful of losing career opportunities, tried to calm him down over the phone—apologizing both to him and to Pitt.
Curiously, Harvey did not retaliate. On the contrary, he continued working with her for several years.
After the 2003 release of View from the Top, Paltrow began distancing herself from him, citing his ongoing harassment.
(PS: In reality, Gwyneth was no longer a favorite by that time—Harvey had already moved on to new obsessions.)
Martin set down the newspaper and shook his head.
He found it hard to believe that someone like Brad Pitt would have dared to confront Harvey face-to-face.
Even more so, he doubted that Gwyneth had truly rejected Harvey back then.
From what Drew had told him, Gwyneth had long been one of Harvey's bed partners. She had even once complained to Drew about Harvey's poor performance in bed—and his fondness for bizarre, twisted roleplay.
As more women stepped forward, the accusations became harder to dismiss.
This time, it wasn't just individual actresses—it was a group of former Miramax employees.
Women like Amy Israel, Zelda Perkins, Rowena Chiu, and Laura Madden all spoke out. Their accounts were eerily consistent with those of the actresses: hotel suites, bathrobes, massage requests, and sexual harassment.
The only difference lay in the degree of severity.
Perkins and Chiu even consulted legal professionals and were advised to settle quietly. They ultimately received payouts ranging between $50,000 and $80,000—under the condition that they sign NDAs and retain no physical evidence.
Still, Judy managed to locate one copy of a signed settlement agreement through a law firm.
She published a follow-up report, revealing that Weinstein had a special assistant who coordinated many of these "invitations"—a middle-aged blonde woman named Sandeep Rehal.
Rehal's job also included procuring erectile dysfunction medication for Harvey, specifically a drug called Caverject.
As the reporting deepened, more and more women stepped forward.
The public began to realize: this wasn't just a few isolated incidents. No matter the city, no matter the woman's level of fame—be it a superstar or a behind-the-scenes staffer—the patterns were disturbingly similar. And in nearly every case, silence was chosen over confrontation. Careers were at stake.
Women who had worked together at the same Miramax offices for years—like Amy Israel and Laura Madden—had never even shared their experiences with one another.
Everyone had held onto their own isolated fragments, never realizing they were all part of the same harrowing mosaic.
Shock spread. People across the country began asking themselves—was power in America truly this absolute? Could it really bury everything?
Just as Judy was preparing to take her investigation even further—
Matt Purdy, the editor-in-chief of The New York Times, called her into his office.
"Judy, come in. Have a seat."
"What's up, Matt?"
"I know you've been doing important work lately. But… you need to understand. Sometimes, there's a line we don't cross. The pressure's mounting. Congressional aides have been calling nonstop."
"What are you saying, exactly?"
"I'm saying… this is far enough, Judy."
She sneered.
This is far enough?
No way.
She had already crossed Harvey. If she didn't finish this now, he'd come after her with everything he had. She knew the kind of man he was.
Besides, others had already whispered to her:
If you keep pushing forward, the next Pulitzer Prize will have your name on it.
There was no turning back.
How could she give up?