Chapter 7 - The Unravelling
The next morning, the campus coffee shop near the university library was unusually quiet. The morning sun was cutting through the eucalyptus trees, casting long, clean shadows across the concrete paths where I used to walk with my head down, worrying if my clothes were nice enough or if I was smiling too much.
My phone had been buzzing steadily since 7:00 AM.
Three emails from the university’s academic senate, an official notification from the dean of student affairs, and a frantic text message from Liam asking if we could "talk things out like adults."
I ignored them all while sipping a black coffee at an outdoor table.
Across from me sat Professor Helen Vance—Arthur’s estranged sister, who taught art history and had spent twenty years being sidelined by the very family board members who now found themselves under federal and institutional investigation.
"Marcus called me at dawn," Professor Vance said, stirring her tea with a small silver spoon. Her eyes were sharp, intelligent, and entirely free of the aristocratic pretense that defined her brother’s circle. "He told me about the audit logs. He also told me about how you handled yourself last night at the beach house."
"I just wanted what was mine," I said simply.
"More than that, Chloe. You exposed a rot that has infected that department for over a decade." She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. "The university senate is holding an emergency session this afternoon. They’ve already pulled the physical plaques and digital archives from the 2022 dance showcase. Your name is being officially reinstated as the unanimous gold-tier recipient. The false plagiarism flag has been expunged from your permanent transcript."
A strange, quiet warmth bloomed in my chest. Not triumph, but a deep, long-overdue exhale. Four years of carrying an invisible weight, four years of believing I had barely scraped by through luck and charity, vanished with a single administrative update.
"And Scarlett?" I asked.
"Her family’s corporate sponsors have pulled out of her upcoming regional showcase," Professor Vance said grimly. "When word leaked that foundation funds were being funneled into private shell companies, the underwriters dropped her faster than a bad stock. She’s currently locked in her family’s estate refusing to speak to anyone."
My phone buzzed again on the table. This time, it was a direct call from Brendan.
I looked at the screen, watching his name flash against the dark glass. For three years, that ringtone had filled me with a conditioned anxiety—a rush of adrenaline telling me I had to fix something, apologize for something, or be better at something.
I pressed silence, then blocked the number permanently.
Professor Vance watched me with a knowing smile. "What happens next, Chloe? Your parents are leaving for Tucson next week. Are you still going?"
"Yes," I said without hesitation. "My dad has a small bookkeeping firm out there, and I’ve already accepted an offer to join their regional analytics division. I’m done playing games in La Jolla."
"A wise choice," she murmured, standing up and gathering her bag. "Some places are built on foundations of sand, Chloe. It's better to leave before the tide comes in."
May you like
As she walked away, a shadow fell across my table.
I looked up. Mason was standing there, looking exhausted, his designer jacket wrinkled and his usual swagger entirely replaced by a nervous, twitchy desperation.
