Chapter 1 - FORTY MINUTES BEFORE MY OWN ANNOUNCEMENT
“Take that dress off right now. I’m not walking into my university dressed the same as some stranger.”
The words stopped me less than fifty meters from the President’s Office building.
It was 8:20 on Monday morning, the first day of fall classes at St. Jude State University, and I had forty minutes before the Board of Regents was scheduled to officially introduce me as the university’s new president.
My name is Dr. Elena Marlowe.
I was thirty-two years old.
People mistook me for a graduate student more often than I cared to admit.
That morning did not help.
My dark hair was tied back.
I wore minimal makeup.
And instead of the conservative suit several board members expected, I had chosen a cream-colored dress with dark blue piping at the waist and cuffs.
The woman standing in front of me wore what looked like the same dress.
Almost.
“That’s Alyssa Mercer,” somebody whispered nearby.
“Her family gave thirty million dollars for the new Mercer Commercial Innovation Center.”
Alyssa removed her sunglasses.
She looked me up and down.
“I’m talking to you.”
“I noticed.”
“That dress is exclusive.”
I glanced at her waist.
Then at the hem.
I almost smiled.
The original design belonged to Vivienne Laurent, a retired designer from Savannah who had become a friend of mine after I helped her establish a scholarship program several years earlier.
Vivienne had made two prototypes.
One remained in her studio.
The other was on me.
Alyssa’s dress was an excellent reproduction.
But not excellent enough.
“Exclusive doesn’t always mean authentic,” I said.
Her face changed.
“Are you saying mine is fake?”
“I’m saying the stitching around your waist is badly done.”
Students nearby laughed.
That was my first mistake.
Not because I was wrong.
Because Alyssa was not accustomed to being laughed at.
One of her friends reached toward my shoulder.
I stepped back.
I pulled out my phone.
“I’m going to call campus security.”
Alyssa slapped my hand.
The phone fell.
The screen shattered against the pavement.
Before I could reach down, she placed one heel on it.
Crunch.
“I’ll pay for it.”
She smiled.
“But first you take off the dress.”
I looked at the broken phone.
Then at her.
“First you’re going to pay for that phone.”
Her smile widened.
“And then you’re going to explain to security why you intentionally destroyed someone else’s property.”
“Security?”
She laughed.
“My uncle is senior vice president.”
Around us, phones appeared.
Students were recording now.
Alyssa continued:
“Nobody here is going to touch me.”
Five minutes later, Douglas Miller, the head of campus security, arrived with two officers.
He did not ask for my version first.
He went directly to Alyssa.
“What happened?”
“This woman attacked me.”
I stared.
Alyssa pointed at my dress.
“She’s been following me. She’s wearing a fake copy of my clothes to provoke me.”
Douglas looked at me.
“Student ID.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Faculty?”
“No.”
“Visitor badge?”
“No.”
“Then you need to come with us.”
“Aren’t you going to check the cameras?”
“There’s no need.”
He glanced toward Alyssa.
“Miss Mercer has no reason to lie.”
That sentence concerned me more than the broken phone.
Because the night before, I had received an anonymous file.
Twenty-seven pages.
Inflated construction contracts.
Preferential vendor approvals.
Unusual consulting fees.
A series of transactions linked directly to Gregory Mercer.
Senior Vice President for Administration.
Alyssa’s uncle.
My board had hired me partly because St. Jude State had experienced declining trust, rising costs, and repeated accusations that wealthy donors enjoyed privileges ordinary students did not.
I had arrived without an entourage intentionally.
I wanted one hour on campus before everyone knew who I was.
Apparently I got what I wanted.
Alyssa opened her purse.
She pulled out a bundle of cash.
Then threw it at my chest.
Bills scattered across the walkway.
“There. Ten thousand dollars.”
Students gasped.
“That covers your phone and your imitation.”
I did not bend down.
“Pick it up.”
Her expression hardened.
“What?”
“Your money.”
I looked around at the bills.
“You dropped it.”
Alyssa laughed again.
But there was uncertainty now.
“Uncle Gregory is coming.”
“Good.”
“When he gets here, you’re going to learn who runs this university.”
I looked at my watch.
8:41.
Nineteen minutes until my announcement.
“Actually,” I said, “I think several people are about to learn that.”
A black university sedan pulled toward the curb.
Gregory Mercer stepped out.
Late fifties.
Silver hair.
Custom suit.
Confident stride.
He saw Alyssa.
Then Douglas.
Then me.
He stopped walking.
Everything in his face disappeared.
Alyssa ran toward him.
“Uncle Gregory, thank God.”
Gregory did not answer.
She pointed toward me.
“That woman assaulted me and broke—”
“Alyssa.”
His voice was strange.
She stopped.
Gregory stared at me.
“Dr. Marlowe.”
The students around us went silent.
Douglas slowly looked from Gregory to me.
Alyssa frowned.
“You know her?”
I bent down.
Picked up what remained of my phone.
Then I looked at Gregory.
“Good morning, Vice President Mercer.”
His face turned pale.
Alyssa laughed nervously.
“Why are you calling her doctor?”
I checked my watch again.
8:44.
Then I answered.
“Because in sixteen minutes, Alyssa, the Board of Regents is scheduled to introduce me as the new president of St. Jude State University.”
Nobody moved.
Alyssa’s mouth opened.
Closed.
Douglas lowered his hands.
One of the students whispered:
“Oh my God.”
I looked at the money still scattered across the pavement.
Then at Douglas.
“Please preserve every camera angle covering this walkway.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And nobody deletes any security report from this morning.”
“Of course.”
I turned to Alyssa.
“Pick up your money.”
Her face burned red.
Then Gregory stepped closer.
“Elena, I’m sure this can be handled privately.”
That sentence told me almost as much as the anonymous file.
Privately.
I smiled.
“We’ll see.”
What none of them knew was that the ceremony upstairs was about to become the least important meeting on my calendar.
Because when Gregory turned toward the President’s Office, a folded photograph slipped from the folder beneath his arm.
It landed near my shoe.
Alyssa bent to retrieve it.
Then froze.
The photograph showed a girl around eight years old standing beside Gregory, Alyssa’s mother, and the university’s former president.
On the back, written in blue ink, were four words:
MERCER SETTLEMENT — DO NOT FILE.
Alyssa stared at it.
“That’s me.”
Gregory snatched the photograph away.
Too late.
I had seen the date.
Exactly ten years earlier.
May you like
And judging by the terror on Gregory’s face, the thirty-million-dollar donation was about to become the smallest secret in the Mercer family.
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