the restraining order six weeks earlier. Marjorie claimed that Brittany had driven a dark-blue Honda Accord to an alley next to Maury’s house, then tailed the couple to an Office Depot store in Silver Spring. The court set a new hearing on whether to file criminal contempt charges against Brittany for violating the restraining order.
At the time, Brittany was working a new job at the front desk of the Willard InterContinental, a four-star luxury hotel two blocks from the White House. She asked the court to postpone the hearing, saying she’d only been given two days’ notice and couldn’t get off from work. “This matter is very serious to me,” she wrote. A delay was granted.
Her bosses at the Willard hotel had no reason to know about the proceedings—a good thing because things seemed to be going well there. Brittany was an ideal presence to greet hotel guests—petite, striking, smiling, smartly appointed in a dark business suit over a white blouse. Her coworkers began to rely on her to deal with the rudest of guests—those exhausted after travel, those expecting perfect service for the Willard’s high rates, those whom Brittany seemed to be able to sense as they walked across the lobby. “I got it, guys,” she’d tell them. “Don’t worry.”
Her colleagues, like Whitney Osborne, never saw Brittany get ruffled. “She had this invisible shield, where she was always happy, always smiling,” Whitney would later recall. Brittany started filling in at the Guest Services unit, which combed through reservation lists to flag celebrity guests and those paying $700 or more a night. Brittany made sure their rooms and suites were stocked with fruit baskets, fresh-cut flowers, and—for the really high-enders—a Montblanc pen. Brittany gave them tours of their rooms, her smiling, confident bearing on full display. Outside of work, as some of her coworkers knew, Brittany had also settled into an apartment inside a chic building overlooking D.C.’s trendy Columbia Heights neighborhood. She could have people over for cocktails, then take them out to a host of bars and restaurants just steps away.
But, privately, she was making trips to the D.C. Superior Court, first for the stalking allegations and then a whole new matter. On April 25, 2008, the management company of the sleek apartment building filed a claim to evict Brittany and her roommate because they were two months late on their $2,565 monthly rent. After a brief legal proceeding, the roommates were evicted, and Brittany moved in with one of her sisters. As for the stalking claims, Brittany managed to make them go away quietly by simply not showing up for a hearing, prompting the judge to issue a standard “bench warrant” for such matters. But in a city full of crime, cops didn’t have time to serve bench warrants. They only enforced them when they picked up someone for something else. The warrants often automatically expire after a year if they’re not served, which is what happened for Brittany.
*
At the Willard, work demands and long hours mounted. “I spent the WHOLE weekend at work, literally,” she texted to a friend. “Even had to stay over because I had Johnny Depp and Tim Burton in house. Didn’t get home until 11:45 last night.”
But Brittany’s bosses took notice. “You won employee of the quarter and didn’t tell me?!?!,” a colleague and friend texted her in late 2008.
“Oops. Sorry! You didn’t ask,” replied Brittany, who friends knew was quicker to talk them up than herself. “I am truly blessed to have friends like you!!!!” she wrote in one such text.
Outside of work, much of Brittany’s social life revolved around her three sisters who lived in the area, Marissa, Heather, and Candace, and Candace’s two young sons. They got together for dinners, or took the boys to movies and sleepovers.
“Thank you so much for making this day SO special,” Candace wrote to her sisters after a long birthday celebration. “I
At the time, Brittany was working a new job at the front desk of the Willard InterContinental, a four-star luxury hotel two blocks from the White House. She asked the court to postpone the hearing, saying she’d only been given two days’ notice and couldn’t get off from work. “This matter is very serious to me,” she wrote. A delay was granted.
Her bosses at the Willard hotel had no reason to know about the proceedings—a good thing because things seemed to be going well there. Brittany was an ideal presence to greet hotel guests—petite, striking, smiling, smartly appointed in a dark business suit over a white blouse. Her coworkers began to rely on her to deal with the rudest of guests—those exhausted after travel, those expecting perfect service for the Willard’s high rates, those whom Brittany seemed to be able to sense as they walked across the lobby. “I got it, guys,” she’d tell them. “Don’t worry.”
Her colleagues, like Whitney Osborne, never saw Brittany get ruffled. “She had this invisible shield, where she was always happy, always smiling,” Whitney would later recall. Brittany started filling in at the Guest Services unit, which combed through reservation lists to flag celebrity guests and those paying $700 or more a night. Brittany made sure their rooms and suites were stocked with fruit baskets, fresh-cut flowers, and—for the really high-enders—a Montblanc pen. Brittany gave them tours of their rooms, her smiling, confident bearing on full display. Outside of work, as some of her coworkers knew, Brittany had also settled into an apartment inside a chic building overlooking D.C.’s trendy Columbia Heights neighborhood. She could have people over for cocktails, then take them out to a host of bars and restaurants just steps away.
But, privately, she was making trips to the D.C. Superior Court, first for the stalking allegations and then a whole new matter. On April 25, 2008, the management company of the sleek apartment building filed a claim to evict Brittany and her roommate because they were two months late on their $2,565 monthly rent. After a brief legal proceeding, the roommates were evicted, and Brittany moved in with one of her sisters. As for the stalking claims, Brittany managed to make them go away quietly by simply not showing up for a hearing, prompting the judge to issue a standard “bench warrant” for such matters. But in a city full of crime, cops didn’t have time to serve bench warrants. They only enforced them when they picked up someone for something else. The warrants often automatically expire after a year if they’re not served, which is what happened for Brittany.
*
At the Willard, work demands and long hours mounted. “I spent the WHOLE weekend at work, literally,” she texted to a friend. “Even had to stay over because I had Johnny Depp and Tim Burton in house. Didn’t get home until 11:45 last night.”
But Brittany’s bosses took notice. “You won employee of the quarter and didn’t tell me?!?!,” a colleague and friend texted her in late 2008.
“Oops. Sorry! You didn’t ask,” replied Brittany, who friends knew was quicker to talk them up than herself. “I am truly blessed to have friends like you!!!!” she wrote in one such text.
Outside of work, much of Brittany’s social life revolved around her three sisters who lived in the area, Marissa, Heather, and Candace, and Candace’s two young sons. They got together for dinners, or took the boys to movies and sleepovers.
“Thank you so much for making this day SO special,” Candace wrote to her sisters after a long birthday celebration. “I
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