Chapter 2 - The Woman in the Photograph
Evelyn did not sleep.
By six the next morning, her name had become a trending search in Massachusetts.
By seven, three local reporters had emailed her.
By eight, somebody had photographed her apartment building.
By nine, Westbridge University released a carefully worded statement confirming that an investigation was underway.
No conclusion.
No defense.
No accusation.
Just enough words to make Evelyn sound guilty without technically saying she was.
She sat at her kitchen table wearing an old Boston Red Sox sweatshirt while her phone vibrated endlessly.
Her younger sister, Rachel, called from Chicago.
“Tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.”
“You sound terrible.”
“I haven’t slept.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Coffee counts.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
Rachel’s voice softened.
“Did you kiss him?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“That’s it?”
“You said no.”
“You believe me?”
“Evie, you once returned fourteen dollars to a grocery store because the cashier gave you too much change.”
Despite everything, Evelyn laughed.
Rachel continued.
“You’re annoyingly ethical.”
“Apparently not according to the internet.”
“The internet also thinks celebrities are replaced by clones.”
Evelyn rubbed her forehead.
“I should have noticed the camera.”
“You were dealing with a student who crossed a line.”
“He apologized.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“I know.”
There was a knock at the door.
Evelyn stiffened.
“Someone’s here.”
“Reporter?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t open it.”
Evelyn walked quietly toward the peephole.
Mason stood outside.
Her stomach tightened.
“Rachel, I have to go.”
“Who is it?”
“Mason.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I’m not letting him inside.”
“Good.”
Evelyn ended the call and opened the door with the security chain still attached.
“What are you doing here?”
Mason looked exhausted.
“I need to show you something.”
“You should not be here.”
“I know.”
“Then leave.”
“It’s about my mother.”
Evelyn stopped.
Mason reached into his jacket and held up the photograph.
Evelyn stared through the narrow opening.
Her expression changed immediately.
“Where did you get that?”
“My apartment.”
“Where?”
“In a box of my mother’s things.”
Evelyn unlocked the chain.
Not because she wanted him inside.
Because the photograph frightened her.
Mason entered.
He placed it on the table.
The picture had been taken almost nine years earlier.
His mother, Caroline Reed, stood outside a courthouse.
Beside her was Evelyn.
Twenty years old.
Long hair.
Cheap blazer.
Angry eyes.
“I haven’t seen this in years,” Evelyn whispered.
“You knew her.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Evelyn looked at him.
“I worked for your mother.”
Mason stared.
“When?”
“The summer before my senior year in college.”
“Doing what?”
“She ran a nonprofit legal-aid program for international students.”
“I know.”
“She hired me as an intern.”
Mason sat down.
“My father said something last night.”
Evelyn’s attention sharpened.
“What?”
“He said you weren’t supposed to be teaching at Westbridge this long.”
Her face went pale.
“What exactly did he say?”
Mason repeated it.
Evelyn moved away from the table.
“Professor?”
“Don’t call me that here.”
“Evelyn—”
“No.”
She turned.
“Actually, don’t call me anything. You need to leave.”
“What happened between you and my family?”
“Nothing.”
“You just turned white.”
“I’m tired.”
“That photograph says otherwise.”
Evelyn stared at the picture.
“Your mother helped me once.”
“How?”
She hesitated.
Then sat across from him.
“My father died when I was nineteen. My mother was already sick. I nearly dropped out because I couldn’t afford tuition.”
“My mother helped you?”
“She arranged a scholarship through her foundation.”
Mason nodded slowly.
“That sounds like her.”
“There was more.”
“What?”
Evelyn looked toward the window.
“Caroline discovered Westbridge was mishandling scholarship funds intended for foreign students.”
Mason frowned.
“How?”
“Money was being redirected through consulting contracts.”
“Who was responsible?”
“She never told me everything.”
“But you know something.”
“I know she believed members of the Board were involved.”
Mason’s jaw tightened.
“My father?”
Evelyn looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
It was the first lie she told him.
And Mason knew it.
Before he could respond, Evelyn’s phone buzzed.
An email.
From an address she did not recognize.
No subject line.
There was one sentence.
You should have stayed quiet nine years ago.
Attached was another photograph.
Caroline Reed entering a hotel.
Beside her was a man whose face had been circled in red.
Evelyn enlarged it.
Mason leaned closer.
“That’s Dr. Victor Hale.”
Evelyn looked at him.
“You know him?”
“He’s the university president.”
Another message arrived immediately.
This time there was a video attachment.
Evelyn opened it.
Security footage.
Old.
Grainy.
Caroline stood in a hotel corridor arguing with Victor Hale.
There was no audio.
Then Charles Reed appeared.
Mason stopped breathing.
“What the hell?”
The footage ended.
A final line appeared beneath it.
Caroline tried to expose them.
Look what happened to her.
Mason stood.
“My mother died in a car accident.”
Evelyn said nothing.
He looked at her.
“You knew there were questions.”
“Mason—”
“You knew.”
“Your mother called me the night before she died.”
His face changed.
“What did she say?”
Evelyn’s hands trembled.
“She told me she had proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“I never found out.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“What happened the next day?”
Evelyn looked down.
“She drove toward Westbridge.”
“And?”
“She never arrived.”
Mason stared.
His mother had died when he was fourteen.
For nine years he had accepted the official story.
Rain.
A sharp curve.
Loss of control.
Accident.
“What was she bringing here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“I did.”
“Who?”
Evelyn looked directly at him.
“Your father.”
Silence filled the apartment.
Mason stepped backward.
“You told my father?”
“Yes.”
“And what did he do?”
“He told me Caroline had been under stress. He said grief was making me imagine things.”
Mason’s face hardened.
“That sounds like him.”
“He also told me my scholarship would disappear if I created trouble for the family.”
“What?”
“I was twenty.”
“He threatened you?”
“He called it advice.”
Mason looked toward the photograph again.
For the first time, the scandal at Westbridge seemed smaller than the secret beneath it.
Then Evelyn’s phone buzzed again.
A message from Dean Collins.
Please come to campus at noon. New evidence has been submitted.
Evelyn read it aloud.
Mason’s expression darkened.
“What evidence?”
“I don’t know.”
At twelve fifteen, Evelyn entered a conference room at Westbridge.
Dean Collins sat beside the university attorney.
President Victor Hale sat at the head of the table.
Silver hair.
Perfect suit.
Calm smile.
He folded his hands.
“Professor Hart,” he said, “we received additional footage this morning.”
Evelyn sat slowly.
“What footage?”
Hale turned a laptop around.
The screen showed Evelyn’s classroom.
A different day.
Three weeks earlier.
Mason stood near her desk.
The video had no audio.
Evelyn handed him a folder.
Mason smiled.
She touched his forearm.
The video stopped.
Hale spoke quietly.
“This suggests Thursday was not your first inappropriate interaction.”
Evelyn stared at him.
“That was his research proposal.”
“Perhaps.”
“I touched his arm because he was upset about his mother.”
Hale leaned back.
“That is difficult to establish from the video.”
Evelyn looked at Dean Collins.
“You know how ridiculous this is.”
Collins seemed uncomfortable.
Before she could speak, the door opened.
Mason walked in.
His father followed.
Charles Reed looked at Evelyn.
Then at Victor Hale.
Then at his son.
“This meeting is over.”
Hale’s smile disappeared.
Charles placed a thick envelope on the table.
“No,” Mason said.
Everyone looked at him.
May you like
Mason pulled out a chair.
“This meeting is just getting started.”
