Salinger slammed his palm on the table. “Don’t lecture me about standards. Briercliffe exists because of families like mine. We built these buildings. We fund these programs. We decide who belongs here.” “With respect, Mr. Salinger, a university doesn’t belong to anyone.” Malcolm stood slowly. “Least of all to bullies who think money makes them untouchable.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Morrison and Carmichael exchanged glances. Pike’s knuckles went white as she gripped her pen. Salinger’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.” “Actually, I do.” Malcolm tucked his portfolio under his arm. “I’m dealing with exactly the kind of corruption I was hired to root out.”
After Malcolm left, Pike waited until his footsteps faded down the hallway. Then she turned to Salinger with apologetic eyes. “His appointment has become divisive,” she said carefully. “Perhaps it would be better for everyone if he reconsidered his position here.” Salinger’s smile was sharp as a blade. “Make it happen.”
Across campus in the student union, Amara sat with Nadia at a corner table, surrounded by morning coffee and scattered textbooks. The large windows overlooked the courtyard where everything had started just days ago. “Randall Salinger owns half this town,” Nadia said quietly, stirring her latte. “His real-estate company built most of the new campus housing. His foundation funds the honors program. His wife sits on the arts council.”
Amara nodded, taking notes. “And they protect Brock.” “They protect all of them. The Scarlet Circle has had complaints for years, but they always disappear. Students transfer out or drop cases or suddenly find their financial aid in jeopardy.” Nadia glanced around nervously. “That’s how the system works. Money talks. Students walk.” “Not this time.” “Amara, you don’t understand how deep this goes. When the university needs funding, they call families like the Salingers. When they want a new building, they smile and ask politely. They’re not going to risk millions of dollars to protect one student.” “Then we make it impossible for them to ignore.”
Nadia leaned forward. “How? They control the disciplinary committee. They control the board. They probably control—” She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes fixed on something behind Amara. Amara turned to see Tessa Vale walking past their table, designer bags slung over her shoulder. Tessa moved with the confident stride of someone who knew she was untouchable. As she passed, Tessa caught Amara’s eye and smiled. It was a cold, calculated expression that made Amara’s stomach tighten.
But what made her blood run cold was what happened next. Tessa reached into her bag and pulled out a manila folder. She held it just long enough for Amara to see the confidential student-affairs stamp on the front. Then she slid it back into her bag and walked away. That cruel smile never leaving her face.
Amara’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood. “I need to follow her.” “What? No.” Nadia grabbed her wrist. “Amara, you can’t just—” “She has confidential files.” Amara pulled free, her voice tight with controlled anger. “Did you see that stamp? Those are student records.” “And what are you going to do? Confront her in Pike’s office?” “I’m going to see exactly what she’s doing with them.”
Amara left her books on the table and walked quickly across the student union. Through the tall windows, she could see Tessa’s red coat moving down the brick pathway toward Hawthorne Hall. The administration building felt different now. The polished floors and mahogany panels that once seemed dignified now felt oppressive.
Amara slipped inside and positioned herself near the directory board, pretending to study the office listings while watching the hallway. Tessa disappeared through a door marked Student Affairs Administrative Support. Amara waited five minutes, then walked past the office. Through the small window in the door, she could see Tessa seated at a desk, the manila folder open in front of her. She was typing on her computer, occasionally glancing at papers from the file.
When Amara returned to the student union, Nadia was pacing by their table. “She’s in there right now,” Amara said, sitting down hard. “Working with those files.” “Tessa has a work-study position in Pike’s office,” Nadia said quietly. “She does filing, data entry, basic administrative stuff. But Amara, student-conduct files are supposed to be restricted access only.” “Supposed to be.” “I reported her months ago for accessing things she shouldn’t have. Professor Pike said I was being paranoid about student privacy and that Tessa was just doing her job.”
Amara pulled out her phone and started typing notes. “What kind of files?” “Disciplinary records. Complaint forms. Financial-aid appeals. Anything that came through Pike’s office.” Nadia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I saw her looking at sealed complaint files one day. When I asked about it, she said Pike had asked her to organize old cases. And Pike backed her up. Pike said I was overreacting. She made me feel like I was the problem for questioning Tessa’s access.”
Amara stared at her phone screen, pieces clicking together. “We need to talk to Evelyn.” An hour later, they found Evelyn Hart in the archive basement, surrounded by boxes of old student newspapers and handwritten logs. The retired librarian looked up from her reading glasses as they approached. “Back so soon?” Evelyn asked, but her expression grew serious when she saw their faces. “What happened?”
Amara explained what they had witnessed. Evelyn listened without interruption, her weathered hands folded in her lap. “Show me Tessa’s name again,” Evelyn said, reaching for a thick ledger. “I keep handwritten logs of archive requests because I never trusted the digital system.” She flipped through pages of careful handwriting, dates and names and file numbers recorded in blue ink.
“Here.” Evelyn’s finger stopped on an entry from three months ago. “Tessa Vale. She requested access to sealed complaint files from 2019 to 2023. Said it was for a student-government research project.” “Did you give them to her?” “I don’t handle sealed files. Those go through Pike’s office directly.” Evelyn turned more pages. “But look at this.” Her finger moved down the column. Tessa’s name appeared again and again, always requesting files related to student complaints, disciplinary cases, and harassment reports.