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They said that I was wrong—Bill would never hug a girl, and that I shouldn’t make claims that weren’t true. A short time after that meeting, I was walking home alone when a car pulled up beside me. He told me that what happened between us needed to stay between us.

I was never to tell anyone else because it was our little secret—was that clear? Bill would have me accompany him in his car to the airport, and be there to pick him up when he got back from trips.

We have interviewed witnesses, some of whom have agreed to go on the record.

Combining this investigation with what we have previously researched, we believe this to be credible.

My parents told Gothard that, because of him, they were convicted to have more children.

I was born in 1975, and from the get go I was told that I was special—the seventh child, God’s perfect number—and that I owed my life to Bill Gothard.

I went home at the end of October for a week, and Bill called and talked to me daily.

We were all so busy on the trip, I didn’t see much of him. He would drive me home so I wouldn’t walk alone to my house in the dark.

My father was so deep into Gothard’s teachings, and he preached them so much, that his church board had issues with it. He blamed this on the board not being willing to grow. My parents portrayed me to Bill as a sexual, rebellious teen who needed help—but I had only kissed a boy. Bill told them he would give me intensive counseling. I was a temptation to men; Bill Gothard told me that I had tempted my own father.

I have my own theory of why he was forced out, though. He had been forced out of churches in California and New Jersey for taking indecent liberties with young girls. My father’s sexual abuse of me didn’t start until we moved to a pastorate in New Jersey, when I was seven years old and got my own room. Bill would call me into his office for “counseling and teaching.” I was open about my relationship with my boyfriend. I loved to be barefooted, and he would always comment on the shades of polish on my toes. He wanted all the details of my past sexual experiences. I craved Bill’s attention but felt guilty about the increasing touches he gave me.

He would pick me up in his blue classic car by a.m. There were others there, but they would leave, and he’d keep me with him to “talk.” It started out with him telling me how beautiful I was, how I inspired him, and how I made him feel alive. He would touch me and hug me after devotions and then take me to the eight o’clock staff meeting session. I began to have discord with my housemates, and I asked Bill to move me to a different house.

He said the woman in charge of housing wouldn’t “let” him.

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When we got back from Australia he added counseling after-hours, at night. He gave me cash and told me to buy bras that pushed me up more; he wanted me to always wear them when I was around him. He would hold my hand and rub my leg and tell me not to tell anyone about what we did in his car. I was known as Bill’s “pet.” I loved the attention, but I felt dirty.