Chapter 8 - PROFESSOR COLE’S SECOND LIFE
Hannah was released at 9:30 the next morning.
No charges.
Not yet.
Her lawyer walked her out through the side entrance of the federal building.
I was waiting across the street.
Claire hated the idea.
Agent Brooks had told me not to interfere with the investigation.
Maya had used stronger language.
I ignored all three.
Hannah saw me immediately.
She stopped.
Her lawyer said something.
Hannah shook her head.
Then crossed the street alone.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you.”
She looked exhausted.
“What do you want?”
“The ambulance recording.”
Her face changed.
That was enough.
“You took it from Vault 17.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To protect it.”
“Where is it?”
“Safe.”
“That answer has become meaningless to me.”
She looked down.
“Emily…”
“Did you hurt Professor Reeves?”
Her head snapped up.
“No.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No.”
“Did you meet him after graduation?”
“No.”
“Did you know he was planning to talk?”
Silence.
“Hannah.”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“What was he going to say?”
“He wanted immunity.”
“For what?”
“Helping Thomas fabricate the plagiarism case.”
“And?”
“There was more.”
“What?”
“He altered foundation audit records.”
“How long?”
“Ten years.”
I stared.
“So Reeves was involved in the money too.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you defend me against him?”
“Because I hated what he was doing.”
“You helped create the company stealing the money.”
“Yes.”
“How is that different?”
“It isn’t.”
Her answer surprised me.
She wiped her eyes.
“I spent twenty years pretending my part was smaller because I stopped taking money.”
“That doesn’t make you innocent.”
“I know.”
“Then why take the ambulance tape?”
“Because Samuel told me to.”
“He says not to trust you.”
Pain crossed her face.
“He said that?”
“Yes.”
She laughed quietly.
“Of course he did.”
“What does that mean?”
“Samuel trusts no one.”
“Smart.”
“He trusted Natalie.”
“And she died.”
Hannah winced.
“Where is the tape?”
She looked toward the federal building.
“I gave it to someone.”
“Who?”
“A journalist.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Ava Chen.”
I knew the name.
Investigative reporter.
She had written about university donor scandals before.
“Why a reporter?”
“Because evidence can disappear inside institutions.”
That sounded like Samuel.
“Does she have the original?”
“Yes.”
“Why hasn’t she published it?”
“Because I told her to wait.”
“For what?”
“For you.”
I frowned.
“Me?”
“Natalie wanted the story to be yours.”
“I don’t care about the story.”
“I know.”
“Then why wait?”
“Because once the tape becomes public, Hale will know exactly what else survived.”
“What else?”
Hannah looked at me.
“The full ledger.”
“We already have a ledger.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You have transaction extracts.”
“The full ledger names every recipient.”
“How many?”
“Thirty-seven.”
I stared.
“University officials?”
“Yes.”
“Police?”
“Yes.”
“Politicians?”
“Yes.”
“Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Mom?”
“Her payments are marked controlled.”
Relief.
Small, fragile.
“And you.”
Hannah closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Where is the ledger?”
“Samuel has it.”
“Then why do we need the tape?”
“Because the ledger proves theft.”
“And the tape proves…”
“That Thomas deliberately prevented medical aid from reaching Natalie.”
My throat tightened.
“Murder.”
“Maybe.”
“Not maybe.”
Hannah’s eyes filled.
“I’m not a prosecutor.”
“No.”
“You were just the person who warned the man responsible.”
She looked away.
I hated how much that hurt to say.
Because part of me still wanted her to be my professor.
My mentor.
The woman who taught me how to question data.
But she had built her career over a grave she helped dig.
“Why did you tell Hale about Natalie?”
Hannah took a long breath.
“I was drowning in debt.”
“That’s your excuse?”
“No.”
“It sounds like one.”
“My mother was sick.”
“So?”
“I had forty thousand dollars in medical bills.”
“And Hale offered money.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Fifty thousand.”
“For one phone call.”
“Yes.”
“And Natalie died.”
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
“I have replayed that equation every night for twenty-two years.”
I said nothing.
She continued.
“Hale told me Natalie was stealing from the scholarship trust.”
“And you believed him.”
“I chose to.”
There was a difference.
A worse one.
“I called him.”
“What did you say?”
“That Natalie had copied the ledger.”
“Did you tell him where she was going?”
“No.”
“Did Thomas?”
“I think so.”
“Did Dad know you called?”
“Later.”
“What did he do?”
“Used it.”
“For blackmail?”
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
Everyone in this story had held someone else’s guilt like currency.
Hale held Dad’s.
Dad held Mom’s.
Dad held Hannah’s.
Samuel held all of theirs.
And I had been the child at the center of it.
Hannah reached into her bag.
Her lawyer shouted from across the street.
She ignored him.
She handed me a small envelope.
“What is this?”
“Reeves gave it to me last week.”
I opened it.
A hotel key card.
Room 608.
LAKEVIEW INN.
“He booked the room?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He said if anything happened, someone should check it.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I was afraid Thomas followed me.”
I almost laughed.
“At least you’re consistent.”
She accepted that.
Claire came across the street.
“This conversation is over.”
Hannah nodded.
Before leaving, she looked at me.
“Emily.”
“What?”
“Reeves was not the person who started the plagiarism accusation.”
“Dad was.”
“No.”
My skin prickled.
“Who?”
She looked toward the university.
“Ryan submitted the complaint.”
I froze.
“No.”
“He used his student account.”
“Dad had the password.”
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean maybe?”
“Ask Ryan where he was at 2:17 a.m. on March 14.”
Then she left.
I called Ryan immediately.
He answered on the third ring.
“Emily?”
“Where were you at 2:17 a.m. on March fourteenth?”
Silence.
“Ryan.”
“At home.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
More silence.
Then he whispered,
“Dad was with me.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“He said we needed to fix something.”
“What?”
“I’d already submitted the fellowship paper.”
“My paper.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Reeves emailed me.”
“What did he say?”
“That someone had noticed similarities.”
“So?”
“Dad panicked.”
“And?”
Ryan’s breathing changed.
“He told me if the university discovered I plagiarized, I’d be expelled.”
“You should have been.”
“I know.”
“What did he tell you to do?”
Silence.
“Ryan.”
“He said we needed to establish that you copied me.”
The words landed slowly.
Not surprise.
Not anymore.
Just disgust.
“You knew.”
“I didn’t know he was going to make it public.”
“You filed the complaint.”
“Yes.”
“You accused me of stealing my own work.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was scared.”
That word again.
Always fear.
Always someone else paying for it.
I closed my eyes.
“You smiled when Dad slapped me.”
Ryan began crying.
“I know.”
“Why?”
“I thought…”
“What?”
“I thought it meant it was over.”
My stomach turned.
“For who?”
“For me.”
I hung up.
Claire stared.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
We drove to Lakeview Inn.
Room 608 had been paid through the end of the month.
Police had not searched it.
Not because Reeves was missing officially.
The university had reported him as “unreachable.”
Claire called Agent Brooks.
This time I listened.
We waited.
Agents opened the room.
No Reeves.
No blood.
No sign of struggle.
A suitcase.
Clothing.
Prescription medication.
Laptop charger.
No laptop.
On the desk sat a manila folder.
Inside were printed emails.
Thomas.
Reeves.
Hale.
Ryan.
One email stood out.
FROM: VICTOR HALE.
TO: MALCOLM REEVES.
March 12.
If the Bennett girl is contacted by federal auditors, the exposure risk becomes unacceptable.
Thomas believes a disciplinary complaint can delay or invalidate her testimony.
Use the brother’s submission.
Make it credible.
No public spectacle.
My hands shook.
Hale had approved it.
Dad had escalated it.
But then another email.
FROM: MALCOLM REEVES.
TO: HANNAH COLE.
March 17.
I cannot keep doing this.
Thomas is planning something at commencement.
You said we were protecting the university.
This is not protection.
This is retaliation.
If Emily finds the Mercer records, I am telling her everything.
Hannah had known.
She knew Dad was planning something.
And she still let me walk into graduation.
Claire photographed it.
Agent Brooks collected it.
Then Reed found a receipt under the hotel lamp.
Bus ticket.
One way.
To Fairmont.
Departure: graduation day, 2:05 p.m.
Reeves left voluntarily.
Maybe.
“Where’s Fairmont?”
I asked.
Brooks looked up.
“Three hours south.”
“Why go there?”
Reed checked the room phone records.
“One outgoing call before departure.”
“To whom?”
He read the number.
Claire searched.
Her expression changed.
“It belongs to Fairmont County Medical Center.”
I frowned.
“Why would Reeves call a hospital?”
Brooks said,
“Maybe someone is there.”
Maya, who had joined us, searched the number extension.
“Geriatric wing.”
I looked at her.
“Eleanor?”
“No.”
Brooks checked.
“Eleanor is here in the city.”
Then my temporary phone buzzed.
A message from Samuel.
REEVES IS NOT MISSING.
I typed.
WHERE IS HE?
Samuel replied.
HE WENT TO SEE THE ONLY PERSON WHO SAW THOMAS MAKE THE CALL.
My heart pounded.
THE AMBULANCE DISPATCHER?
YES.
ALIVE?
YES.
NAME?
Samuel answered.
MARJORIE KEENE.
Maya searched the hospital directory.
A patient by that name was listed.
Age eighty-three.
Room 214.
We drove south with Agent Brooks.
By the time we arrived, it was nearly dark.
Marjorie Keene was awake.
Thin.
Gray-haired.
Alert eyes.
Professor Reeves sat beside her bed.
He stood when we entered.
Agent Brooks moved toward him.
“Malcolm Reeves?”
He raised both hands.
“I’m not running.”
“Then why did you disappear?”
“Because Thomas called me.”
“When?”
“Right after graduation.”
“What did he say?”
Reeves looked at me.
“He said if I talked, I would end up like Natalie.”
Silence.
My stomach tightened.
Marjorie reached toward me.
“You’re the baby.”
I froze.
“What?”
She smiled sadly.
“You have Natalie’s eyes.”
I sat beside her.
“You knew my mother?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“But I knew her name.”
“Why?”
“Because Thomas Bennett said it.”
My pulse hammered.
Marjorie looked toward Brooks.
“I was working dispatch the night of the crash.”
“May twentieth, 2004?”
“Yes.”
“A call came in.”
“From Thomas?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Her face tightened.
“He identified himself as a foundation officer coordinating with campus security.”
“Why would that matter?”
“He said the woman in the crash was dangerous.”
“Dangerous?”
“He said she had stolen money and might be armed.”
I felt sick.
“He told you to stop the ambulance.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“He told me police had secured the scene.”
“But they hadn’t.”
“No.”
“And you redirected EMS.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
“For seventeen minutes.”
Samuel said forty-seven.
“What happened after seventeen?”
“I called the highway patrol.”
“Why?”
“Something felt wrong.”
“And?”
“They said no officers were at that location.”
“So you sent the ambulance back.”
“Yes.”
“How long until it arrived?”
“Thirty more minutes.”
Forty-seven total.
“What happened to Natalie?”
Marjorie began crying.
“She was alive.”
I gripped the chair.
“Did she speak?”
“One paramedic said she did.”
“What did she say?”
Marjorie looked at me.
“She said a name.”
My heart pounded.
“Whose?”
“Not Thomas.”
I froze.
“Who?”
“Eleanor.”
The room went silent.
My supposed grandmother.
At the crash.
Again.
“What did she say?”
Marjorie closed her eyes, remembering.
“The paramedic wrote it down.”
“What exactly?”
“She said…”
Marjorie swallowed.
“Eleanor has Emily.”
My entire body went cold.
“That’s impossible.”
I was supposedly with Laura.
Marjorie opened her eyes.
“The paramedic wrote it twice because he thought it might matter.”
I looked at Brooks.
“Where’s the report?”
“Missing.”
Marjorie nodded.
“It disappeared the next day.”
Reeves spoke quietly.
“That is why I came.”
He held up a folder.
“Marjorie kept a copy.”
Brooks took it.
Inside was the original paramedic note.
PATIENT CONSCIOUS INTERMITTENTLY.
REPEATED PHRASE:
“ELEANOR HAS EMILY.”
My hands began shaking.
If Natalie believed Eleanor had me that night, then my mother’s story was incomplete again.
I turned to Reeves.
“Why did you help frame me?”
His face collapsed.
“Because I was a coward.”
I had heard that answer in different forms too many times.
He continued.
“Thomas had evidence of my financial crimes.”
“So you sacrificed me.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know who I was?”
“Not at first.”
“When did you find out?”
“Two months ago.”
“And you still filed the complaint.”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
I stood.
“I hope you go to prison.”
He nodded.
“So do I.”
As we left, Marjorie called my name.
I turned.
“There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“The caller that night.”
“Thomas?”
“Yes.”
“He wasn’t alone.”
My pulse changed.
“How do you know?”
“Someone spoke behind him.”
“A man?”
“No.”
“A woman.”
I stepped back toward the bed.
“Did you recognize the voice?”
“No.”
“But I remember what she said.”
“What?”
Marjorie’s eyes met mine.
“She said, ‘If Natalie survives, Laura loses the child.’”
I felt the room tilt.
“Who was she talking about?”
“You.”
May you like
Then Marjorie added the part that made my blood run cold.
“And Thomas called her Mom.”
