Chapter 3

Francis Pruitt kept saying it, over and over, that I was just a girl.

But everything he did was as far from that concern as it could get.

"Francis, do you understand what it means to grab someone's phone?"

I'd let everything before this slide without a fuss, but there was information on that phone that mattered to me.

I turned back to the security guards beside us, my voice sharpening with urgency.

"He's stealing my phone. Can't you see that?"

The guards traded looks, glanced at Martin Finch, and in the end did nothing at all.

"I said, the two of you, keep up."

Martin Finch looked faintly annoyed as he spoke, and Francis Pruitt took off after him with my phone in his hand.

I gave the guards one long look, then lifted my feet and followed.

The Dean of Student Affairs' office.

I was the last one in, and Francis Pruitt bolted the door behind me, wary as anything.

"Annabel Henson, if I were you, I'd come clean right now. Might even lighten the punishment for you."

Martin Finch waved him off and looked at me with a warm, gentle expression.

"There's no need to be nervous."

"The Office of Student Affairs exists to serve you students. Just walk me through the whole thing from start to finish."

"If the fault's yours, we fix it. If it's Francis's fault, I'll have him apologize to you."

【Don't fall for his lies. This isn't the first time he's pulled this trick.】

【There's a hidden camera in this office. The moment you start talking, they'll release an edited version of the video as hard proof.】

【Get out that door right now and go find your professor for help.】

The floating messages might well be right, but I had no intention of leaving.

"First, let me be clear. This year's intercollegiate stock-trading contest was jointly organized by more than sixty finance firms across the country."

I ignored Francis Pruitt's murderous glare, sat down on the couch as if the room were my own, and even poured myself a glass of water.

"If Francis really thinks I could rig a contest like that, he might as well say I control the entire financial market."

"And you, Dean Finch. Everything you did in front of those students just now only backs up what Francis said."

"If you can't give me a reasonable explanation, I'll file a formal named complaint with the school."

When I finished, Martin Finch froze for a beat, then pointed at his own nose.

"You want to report me?"

It didn't sound like a question. A moment later he burst out laughing.

"Students these days really do get bolder and bolder. Run into a little trouble and out come the formal complaints. What exactly do you think this school is?"

Martin Finch rose slowly, brought his hand down hard on the desk, and his voice turned much harsher.

"A moment ago I was thinking maybe Francis had been a bit unfair. But now I see he was being too generous."

"Annabel Henson, I am now ordering you, as Dean of Student Affairs, to confess your violation truthfully."

"Otherwise, I won't hesitate to post a school-wide notice about you, or even move to have you expelled."

Francis Pruitt got his second wind too, jabbing a finger at me as he shouted.

"You're nothing but a dirt-poor hick. What gives you the right to report a dean?"

"I'll give you two choices right now. Withdraw from school, or hand over the graduate-recommendation slot and admit you cheated in the contest."

"Neither."

I answered calmly, then pointed at the phone in his hand.

"Now I want to ask you one thing. Can you give me my phone back?"