Chapter 14 - SIX A.M.
At 5:42 the next morning, Dad stood in our kitchen wearing the same suit he had worn the day before.
Nobody had slept.
Helen’s team worked with the email provider to stop Peter’s scheduled blast.
Ben watched a progress bar on his laptop.
“Can they block it?” I asked.
“They’re trying.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No. It isn’t.”
At 5:58, the progress bar froze.
At 5:59, Dad’s phone started buzzing.
Then Helen smiled.
“They got the server.”
The email never sent.
At 6:03, state police executed warrants at Peter Mercer’s home and office.
At 6:11, Melissa Crowe was taken back into custody.
At 6:20, reporters began gathering outside Westbridge.
At 6:32, Peter Mercer disappeared.
His car was found at a private airfield.
The plane never left.
He had switched vehicles.
The board postponed Dad’s suspension vote.
By eight, the school was operating under district supervision.
Classes were technically open.
Nobody learned anything.
Sloane sat in the counselor’s office with her mother.
Their parents issued statements blaming “peer pressure and administrative failures.”
Nobody mentioned Ava’s freezer.
Nobody mentioned the scholarship list.
I went to class anyway.
Nobody could stop looking at me.
Finally, I closed my book.
“If you want to ask, ask.”
“Did Sloane really know you were the principal’s daughter?”
“No.”
“Are you going to sue her?”
“I don’t know.”
A girl behind me said, “Why didn’t you tell anyone sooner?”
I looked at her.
“Why didn’t anyone say anything while it was happening?”
The room went silent.
That was the question nobody liked.
Because dozens of people had watched.
Some laughed.
Some filmed.
Most did nothing.
At lunch, Noah Kim stood on a chair.
He wasn’t supposed to.
“I want to say something.”
A teacher started toward him.
Then stopped.
Noah looked around the cafeteria.
“My brother left this school because everybody believed the official story. Maybe we should stop pretending only three girls did something wrong.”
Phones lowered.
Faces changed.
Then one student stood.
Then another.
Not for me.
For Ava.
For Jordan.
For Malik.
For every name on that list.
Then Ben Ortiz rushed through the doors.
He went straight to me.
“Mia, where’s your father?”
“District office. Why?”
Ben held up his phone.
Peter Mercer had sent one message from a burner number.
TELL HARPER I’M DONE LOSING.
May you like
Attached was a photograph of Dad’s car.
Taken ten minutes earlier.
