Chapter 4

"I shouldn't have come to find you."

Chloe sat on the plastic stool, holding a cup of Coke without drinking.

Short hair, a gray hoodie washed until faded, six or seven years older than me.

"How did you find me?"

"It spread on the school forum. The posts got deleted several times, but screenshots are still circulating. Someone posted your screen protector location in the comments."

"Why did you come?"

"Because when I saw your name—I just knew." She finally took a sip of Coke. "Exactly like what happened to me."

"Exactly like what?"

"That video is real, isn't it?"

I didn't say anything.

"You don't need to answer." She smiled bitterly. "Five years ago he did the same thing to me. I was in my third year of grad school, halfway through my thesis, when he brought in a female student. Very obedient, very compliant. Later my data was given to her. I went to confront him, and he said I wasn't capable enough."

"Then what?"

"Delayed graduation for two years. The second year he made me switch to an unpopular research direction nobody wanted, starting from scratch. I couldn't hold out anymore. I dropped out."

"Did you report him?"

"Went through all the school channels—nothing. Wrote to the Department of Education—not even a response."

"Why?"

"No evidence." She put down the cup. "No surveillance, no recordings, just empty words."

I pulled out my phone and checked the cloud drive. The folder was empty.

The operation log showed—last Friday at 3:17 AM, someone logged into my account remotely and deleted all backups. The login device was a desktop computer.

The lab computer.

"They've blocked all your escape routes." Chloe's voice was soft.

"Why did you come find me?"

"Because I've regretted it for five years." She said. "If someone had stood with me back then, maybe the outcome would have been different."

She stood up and placed the unfinished Coke on the table.

"If you still want to fight this battle, contact me anytime."

She left.

Traffic on the overpass gradually thinned. I sat on the stool and started packing up my tools.

I found an old phone at the very bottom of the toolbox.

A beam of headlights swept over. A black Ford stopped across the street, engine still running.

The driver's window rolled down. He got out, crossed the street, and asked me:

"How's business?"

"How did you know I was here?"

"One of your customers is my student." He sat with his legs crossed. "That thing Bella gave you—did you sign it?"

"No."

"Fiona, I've taught for twenty years. Smart students take the money and leave. The not-so-smart ones—" His gaze swept over the old phone by my hand. "You be careful."

He stood up and brushed off his pants.

"The lawyer's letter goes out the day after tomorrow. Defamation charge plus civil compensation—guess the amount?"

He bent down, his face coming close, the streetlight casting his shadow over me from behind.

Then he drove away.

I looked down at the old phone. Found Chloe's number and sent a message.

"You said you regretted it for five years. If you could do it over, would you dare?"

Two minutes later she replied.

"You have a plan?"

"I do."