Chapter 8 - THE DEAN'S PASSWORD
Dean Harrow did not run when investigators arrived.
He invited them into his office.
That made me suspicious.
Guilty people run sometimes.
Powerful people often stay seated and assume the room belongs to them.
Harrow looked at me.
“I wondered when you would find the fellowship accounts.”
My heart stopped.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
Daniel moved slightly in front of me.
“Careful.”
Dean Harrow smiled.
“I am not threatening Natalie.”
“Then explain.”
Harrow removed a pair of glasses.
“For three years, I have suspected scholarship funds were being diverted.”
I stared.
“Your credentials approved them.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“They were cloned.”
The same problem my research detected.
Administrative identity used by someone else.
I almost laughed.
The conspiracy was eating itself.
“Why didn’t you report it?”
“I did.”
“To whom?”
“University counsel.”
“And?”
“They investigated.”
“Apparently not very well.”
Harrow’s face hardened.
“They found no proof.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
That was before my thesis.
Before my model could expose manipulated logs.
Then I understood.
“My research could prove your credentials were cloned.”
“Yes.”
“Professor Cole knew.”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“Not until February.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because by then you were accused.”
I stared.
“That would have been an excellent time to tell me.”
“You were under academic-integrity review. If I intervened, it could look like I was protecting you because your research might clear my name.”
“Instead you let my scholarship get frozen.”
Harrow looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
I was beginning to hate the way adults admitted devastating decisions in one syllable.
“Who cloned your credentials?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who had access?”
“Several senior administrators.”
“Names.”
“Vice Provost Helen Ward. CFO Martin Price. My executive assistant.”
“Professor Cole?”
“Not directly.”
Daniel asked:
“Who oversaw the Academic Advancement Foundation?”
Harrow’s face changed.
“Martin Price.”
There.
A new name.
Investigators moved quickly.
University CFO Martin Price had left campus the morning after graduation.
Official reason:
family emergency.
His phone was off.
His house was empty.
His passport had been used to enter Canada six hours earlier.
Another disappearance.
Another person running as soon as the evidence surfaced.
My life had somehow become full of adults fleeing airports.
Then Dean Harrow said:
“There is something you should know about Meridian.”
I waited.
“They donated six million dollars to the university over five years.”
“For cybersecurity research?”
“Partly.”
“And?”
“Recruitment access.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind?”
“Students.”
Meridian funded scholarships.
Then recruited recipients.
On paper, that looked generous.
In practice, it created a pipeline of young researchers producing valuable work under university agreements complicated enough that ownership could become blurry.
My fellowship sponsor was officially the Academic Advancement Foundation.
Meridian funded the foundation.
Professor Cole supervised my work.
My uncle Robert worked at Meridian.
It was not a coincidence.
It was a machine.
“What happens to student research?” I asked.
Harrow hesitated.
“Some licensing rights may transfer to sponsors.”
“Mine?”
“Not without your consent.”
“Did I consent?”
“No.”
“Then why was my code on Meridian’s server?”
He had no answer.
By evening, federal investigators joined the case.
Potential wire fraud.
Intellectual-property theft.
Scholarship diversion.
Evidence fabrication.
Possibly obstruction.
Vanessa was offered limited consideration if she cooperated fully.
Professor Cole began negotiating.
Robert refused.
My mother stopped defending him.
That was progress.
Small.
Late.
But real.
Dad finally opened Grandpa’s old desk.
Not by searching drawers.
By removing the back panel.
Inside was a narrow compartment.
A notebook.
Red leather.
The physical counterpart to Abigail’s red drive.
Grandpa had handwritten years of notes.
Near the end was a list titled:
PEOPLE WHO KNOW JANUS EXISTS.
THOMAS LAWSON.
ABIGAIL CROSS.
ROBERT LAWSON.
One more name.
STEPHEN BENNETT.
My father.
I stared at him.
“You knew about Janus.”
Dad looked exhausted.
“Not everything.”
“You knew enough to be on the list.”
“Yes.”
Mom stood.
“You lied to me for nine years.”
Dad looked at her.
“Your brother was helping Meridian steal your father’s work.”
“He was still my brother.”
“Exactly.”
The room went silent.
It was cruel.
It was also honest.
Dad turned to me.
“Thomas trusted me because I was outside the Lawson family.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He made me promise not to unless someone came after you.”
“They came after me three months ago.”
“I didn’t understand why.”
“You saw my investigation.”
“I thought it was university politics.”
“You saw Uncle Robert’s name.”
“Not until graduation.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I opened the notebook.
The final page had been added in different handwriting.
A woman’s.
Abigail.
NATALIE REBUILT THE MIRROR WITHOUT KNOWING THE ORIGINAL.
DO NOT CONTACT HER.
IF MERIDIAN NOTICES, SHE BECOMES THE TEST.
“The test?” I whispered.
Dad shook his head.
Then a knock hit the front door.
Three times.
Slow.
Dad checked the camera.
Abigail Cross stood outside.
This time she was not leaving a flash drive.
She was waiting.
We opened the door.
She looked directly at me.
“You found Janus.”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re out of time.”
“For what?”
Abigail entered.
“Meridian wasn’t trying to steal your thesis.”
I stared.
“That’s exactly what they did.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“They already had better versions of your code.”
My stomach dropped.
“Then why frame me?”
May you like
Abigail looked toward the red notebook.
“Because they wanted to know whether you could prove you were framed.”
