The burner phone in my hand felt heavy, like a slab of cold iron pulled from a sunken ship. Across the line, Marcus let out a breath that sounded like a low whistle escaping a pressure valve. Nineteen years of rust, nineteen years of school plays, quiet dinners, and ledger sheets—all of it dissolved in the space of a single heartbeat.

The university president’s office smelled of old leather, polished mahogany, and institutional panic. Dr. Alistair Vance sat behind his massive oak desk, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief. Across from him sat Ethan Junior, Brandon Hale, and Tyler Whitmore—all three looking pale, exhausted, and stripped of their usual untouchable swagger.

"I don't understand how this happened," Vance muttered, staring frantically at his laptop screen where university board members were resigning en masse. "The disciplinary committee voted unanimously to dismiss the complaint against you boys! The campus security footage was wiped! How is the federal prosecutor's office subpoenaing our internal servers?"

The heavy oak door to the office didn't knock; it simply swung open.

I walked into the room, followed closely by Marcus, who locked the door behind us and pocketed the brass key.

Vance jumped up from his chair, his face flushing with indignation. "Excuse me! This is a private administrative office! How did you get past campus security? Security! Guards!"

"The security guards are currently sitting in a holding cell downtown, explaining to federal investigators why they accepted a five-thousand-dollar bribe to delete campus camera logs," I said calmly, walking past Vance and stopping directly in front of the three boys.

Ethan shrank back into his leather armchair, his jaw twitching nervously. "You... you're Lily's dad. You're just a small-business guy from the docks. My dad is going to—"

"Your father is currently sitting in the back of an FBI cruiser watching his company liquidated by federal marshals," I said, my voice dropping the temperature in the room. "And Senator Hale is packing her bags for a federal grand jury hearing. As for the Whitmore trust, your uncle just liquidated your college fund to pay for his own legal defense."

Tyler buried his face in his hands, letting out a muffled sob. "We didn't mean to... we were just drunk. It was supposed to be a prank..."

"A prank?" I stepped closer, leaning over Ethan's chair until our eyes met. "My daughter has six titanium plates holding her jaw together. She can't eat solid food. She wakes up screaming every night because she thinks you're still standing over her with brass knuckles."

I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a single manila envelope, tossing it onto Vance's desk.

"What is this?" Vance squeaked, pulling the folder toward him with shaking hands.

"That's an itemized list of every financial donation the Whitmore, Cole, and Hale families ever made to this university over the past thirty years," I said. "Along with photocopies of every internal email proving you covered up sexual harassment, hazing, and assault on this campus to protect your endowment fund."

Vance’s eyes scanned the first page, and the color drained entirely from his face. "You... you can't release this to the press. The university will be sued out of existence!"

"The press already has a copy," I replied smoothly. "Along with the Department of Education. You have twenty minutes to issue a permanent, unappealable expulsion notice for these three individuals, accompanied by a public statement detailing every criminal act they committed."

"And if I refuse?" Vance whispered, his hands trembling violently.