Thirty-five-year-old, blue-eyed Rohan Brady certainly seemed like a character whom women seemed to love. His outlandishly way-too-confident social media posts and frat uniform—OK, pastel shirts and trousers—made me cringe. “Lakshmi, please mint tea,” I ordered over the intercom. I stretched my arms over my head. Rohan handled the alcohol and cigarette clients for his company, which meant many of his pictures posted online were taken at parties and events. Does he ever sleep? He paraded his chiseled jaw and the dimple on his chin in every profile picture on social media. “Who dat? Who dat? Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints?” he chanted and ranted all over social platforms. Rohan shamelessly attributed his habit of drinking Sazerac, a whiskey-cocktail, to being a New Orleans native and a
