In Silicon Valley, where capital, housing, and professional identity converge into a single social ecosystem, women in tech and venture capital have built a shadow registry — a shared spreadsheet of more than a hundred names — because they believe the formal institutions meant to protect them will not. The list is unverified, ungoverned, and legally unexamined, yet it circulates as a survival tool among women who fear that reporting through official channels will cost them their careers, their networks, and sometimes their homes. It is not a solution so much as a testament: a record of what co
Silicon Valley's underground 'whisper network' flags 100+ alleged predators
Multiple women report sexual assault, drugging, and rape; survivors face professional blacklisting, housing instability, and institutional retaliation when attempting to report misconduct.
They're creating their own because they don't trust the alternatives.
Mark
Why would women use an unverified list instead of going to police or their employers?
Mimi
Because they've seen what happens when they do. One woman said she feared being blacklisted by investors across the entire region if she pursued a case and lost. Another lived in a community house where reporting led to her being asked to leave, not the accused.
Luke
But we should be clear: the spreadsheet itself hasn't been independently verified. We don't know how many allegations are accurate, how many are disputed, or whether some names appear for reasons other than misconduct.
Mark
So it's a warning system built on unverified information.
Mimi
Yes, but that's the point. Women are saying the formal systems have failed them. They're creating their own because they don't trust the alternatives.
Luke
The reporting does show specific documented cases—Yehong Zhu's police report, the woman at The Muse who has a written account. Those are verifiable. The spreadsheet itself is different.
Mark
What happened at The Muse?
Mimi
A woman alleged a resident gave her ketamine without her consent and had sex with her while she was impaired. When she reported it, the house called it a "grey area" and tried to mediate between her and the man she accused.
Luke
And he was allowed back in while she was still living there.
Mark
So the community prioritized keeping him over protecting her.
Mimi
That's what she alleges, yes. She asked the house to publicly acknowledge what happened and explain how they'd prevent it in the future.
Mark
Did they?
Mimi
The reporting doesn't say they did.
Luke
One thing worth noting: at Launch House, when women reported similar behavior together, the man was removed and the locks were changed. So institutional response varies.
Mark
Why does the spreadsheet matter if we have these documented cases?
Mimi
Because it shows how widespread women believe the problem is. Over a hundred names. And because it's a sign that women have lost faith in official channels.
El Pulso
- Women in Silicon Valley are quietly passing a spreadsheet naming over a hundred alleged predators, a shadow system born from the belief that official reporting leads not to justice but to professional ruin.
- Multiple survivors describe being drugged, assaulted, or raped inside communal hacker houses — spaces where social trust, shared housing, and startup ambition are so intertwined that speaking out means risking everything at once.
- In at least one documented case, a community founder responded to a rape allegation by calling it a 'grey area,' facilitating mediation between the accused and his accuser, and ultimately asking the survivor — not the alleged perpetrator — to leave.
- The closure of Callisto, a nonprofit that allowed survivors to anonymously cross-reference their attackers, has stripped away one of the few institutional tools designed to bridge private disclosure and formal accountability.
- Eleven more women came forward after initial reporting broke, suggesting the spreadsheet is less a fringe phenomenon than a visible edge of a much larger, largely silent crisis.
In Silicon Valley, where capital, housing, and professional identity converge into a single social ecosystem, women in tech and venture capital have built a shadow registry — a shared spreadsheet of more than a hundred names — because they believe the formal institutions meant to protect them will not. The list is unverified, ungoverned, and legally unexamined, yet it circulates as a survival tool among women who fear that reporting through official channels will cost them their careers, their networks, and sometimes their homes. It is not a solution so much as a testament: a record of what communities produce when accountability is treated as a threat to the community itself.
Somewhere in Silicon Valley, a spreadsheet moves quietly from woman to woman. It holds more than a hundred names — people accused of misconduct ranging from harassment to rape. No institution maintains it. No court has reviewed it. It exists because women say the official channels have failed them: one feared being blacklisted by investors if she reported and lost; another found that in Silicon Valley, where housing, employment, and professional introductions all occupy the same social world, there is no safe distance from someone you have accused.
The allegations span a spectrum of violence, with several centered on hacker houses — the communal spaces where founders and engineers live and work together. Yehong Zhu reported a former resident of Genesis, a San Francisco hacker house, to police in December 2021, accusing him of rape. She had considered him a friend. When she tried to locate him afterward, people in their shared circle were reluctant to assist.
A separate case at The Muse, another San Francisco community house, followed a grimmer arc. A woman on a trial residency alleged that a male resident offered her a ketamine session in January 2025, then administered multiple doses while remaining sober himself and had sex with her after she had clearly stated she did not want to. When she reported this to a founder of the house, she was told the situation was a 'grey area' and encouraged to mediate with her alleged attacker. He was later permitted to return to the community while she was still living there. She was eventually asked to leave. Not every house responded this way — at Launch House, founders removed an accused man and changed the locks after women came forward together — but that response was the exception.
The closure of Callisto, a nonprofit that had helped roughly 4,000 survivors anonymously identify potential links between their attackers, has deepened the vacuum. Its CEO noted that women needed ways to share information while also holding institutions accountable. With Callisto gone, the informal spreadsheet fills a space that formal infrastructure has abandoned.
The list carries real risks: unverified allegations can spread without the safeguards of investigation or due process. But after initial reporting, eleven more women came forward with accounts of assault, retaliation, and professional consequences. The spreadsheet is not a solution. It is a record of what communities produce when the institutions meant to protect people choose, instead, to protect themselves.
Somewhere in Silicon Valley, a spreadsheet is being passed from woman to woman. It contains more than a hundred names—people accused of sexual misconduct, from assault to rape. No one knows exactly who maintains it. No institution oversees it. No court has examined the allegations. Yet it circulates anyway, a shadow registry that women in tech and venture capital consult the way others might check a background report, because they believe the official channels will not protect them.
The list exists because of what women say happens when they try to report through proper channels. One woman in her twenties learned of the spreadsheet after disclosing her own experience; someone invited her to add her account. Another woman feared that if she pursued her case against an alleged attacker and lost, she would be "blacklisted" by investors across the region. A third described how the ecosystem of Silicon Valley—where housing, investment, employment, and professional introductions all overlap—makes it nearly impossible to simply walk away from someone you have accused of misconduct. The social and business worlds are the same world. Reporting means risking everything.
The allegations documented in the spreadsheet range across a spectrum of violence. Several involve so-called hacker houses, the communal living spaces where founders, engineers, and aspiring entrepreneurs cluster together. Yehong Zhu, one of the few women to speak publicly, reported a former resident of Genesis, a San Francisco hacker house, to police in December 2021, accusing him of rape and assault. She had considered him a friend. She had told him no repeatedly. When she tried to locate him afterward, people in their shared social and business circle were reluctant to help. An attorney for Genesis founder Jeremy Nixon said Nixon was unaware of Zhu's specific situation but would support law enforcement and prioritize safety.
Zhu later drew attention to another case at The Muse, a San Francisco community house. A woman living there during a trial period alleged that a male resident offered her a ketamine-assisted session in January 2025. While sober, she made clear she did not want to have sex. The man then gave her several doses of ketamine while remaining sober himself, leaving her heavily impaired, and had sex with her. When she reported this to one of the house's founders, her account was described as a "grey area." She was encouraged to participate in a mediated conversation with the man she accused. He was later allowed back into the community while she was still living there. Eventually, she was asked to leave. She has asked The Muse to publicly acknowledge what happened and explain what steps it would take to prevent similar incidents.
Not all cases follow this pattern. At Launch House, another founder community, a woman suspected she had been drugged at a gathering. She heard from other women that the same man had allegedly behaved inappropriately toward them. The women approached the house's founders together, and the man was removed; the locks were changed. This woman chose not to go to the police because she could not remember enough of the incident to establish what had happened.
The spreadsheet, then, is a symptom of a deeper institutional failure. Tracy DeTomasi, CEO of Callisto, a nonprofit that helped survivors anonymously identify possible links between their attackers, said women needed ways to share information while also holding institutions accountable. Callisto accepted new users until July, when it closed after about 4,000 survivors had opened accounts. The organization's closure has intensified concerns about the shrinking infrastructure available to people reporting sexual violence in tech.
Private lists offer women a way to warn one another when they fear retaliation. But they carry an obvious risk: allegations that have not been independently verified can spread without the safeguards of a police investigation, court proceeding, or formal disciplinary process. After the initial reporting on the Silicon Valley list, 11 additional women came forward with allegations involving sexual assault, retaliation, and professional consequences. The spreadsheet is not a solution. It is evidence of what happens when women believe the institutions meant to protect them will not.
Citas Notables
One woman said she feared that pursuing her case and losing could leave her 'blacklisted' by investors across Silicon Valley.— Silicon Valley insider quoted in reporting
Women needed ways to share information while also holding institutions accountable.— Tracy DeTomasi, former CEO of Callisto
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