Wednesday arrived with the weight of a guillotine blade.
The University Senate Hearing Room was designed to intimidate. High ceilings, mahogany tables arranged in a semicircle, and portraits of dead n staring down in judgnt.
I sat at the witness table, a single microphone in front of . To my right sat Dean Elena Vance, looking like a statue carved from ice and ambition.
Across from us sat the Provost, flanked by two junior administrators who looked like they hadn’t slept in a week.
"Mr. Hart," the Provost began, adjusting his glasses. "Let’s be frank. The Sterling Grant is a significant sum. Five million dollars. And Dean Vance proposes that a... student... oversee the allocation strategy?"
He smiled, a condescending twitch of the lips.
"No offense, son, but your resu is... thin. A few months ago, you were on academic probation. Now you’re advising on endownt strategy? It reeks of... impropriety."
He let the word hang there. Impropriety. He wasn’t just attacking my competence; he was attacking my relationship with Elena.
I felt Elena stiffen beside . She opened her mouth to speak, to defend .
I placed a hand on her arm. Wait.
I tapped the microphone.
[Skill Activated: Vocal Stability]
[Skill Activated: Orator (Level 2)]
[Effect: Commanding Voice]
"Provost," I said. My voice didn’t echo; it filled the room. It was calm, resonant, and impossible to ignore. "You’re right to be concerned about risk. Five million dollars is a lot of money."
I opened the folder in front of . It wasn’t just my notes. It was the work of Hart Consulting.
Flashback: Tuesday Night, The Bunker.
"He’s going to hit you on experience," Claire had said, pacing the lab. "He’s going to say you’re a kid."
"So we don’t play his ga," Nia said, typing furiously on three screens. "We play the numbers ga. I dug into the Provost’s last three departntal budgets. Look at this."
She spun a monitor around.
"He spent $400,000 on ’consulting fees’ for the new library wing," Nia said. "To a firm owned by his brother-in-law. And the project is six months behind schedule."
"That’s leverage," Darius grunted.
"No," I said. "That’s a weapon. But if I use it directly, he’ll bury . I need to use it... gently."
End Flashback.
"However," I continued, looking the Provost in the eye. "The risk isn’t in the who. It’s in the how. Traditional oversight often leads to... inefficiencies."
I slid a single sheet of paper across the table.
"I took the liberty of analyzing the efficiency ratings of the last five major grants managed by your office, sir. The average administrative overhead was 22%. The Sterling Grant, under the student-led model I proposed, caps overhead at 5%."
The Provost picked up the paper. His face paled.
"That’s... these are internal figures," he stamred. "How did you—"
"Public records, sir," I lied smoothly. "Cross-referenced with vendor filings. It’s amazing what you can find in the library."
I leaned forward.
"The Sterling Foundation didn’t give this money to the university administration. They gave it to the vision Dean Vance presented. A vision of agility. Of modern strategy. If we revert to the old model—the model that lost $400,000 in ’consulting delays’ last year—we risk losing the grant entirely."
The room went silent. The Provost looked at the paper, then at . He knew I knew. And he knew that if he pushed , I would say the words "brother-in-law" into the microphone.
[Social Engineering: Intimidation Check]
[Target: The Provost]
[Success Rate: 95%]
"I..." The Provost cleared his throat. He looked at the committee mbers, who were now reading copies of my analysis. "Mr. Hart raises a... compelling point about efficiency."
He closed his folder.
"The committee recognizes the... unique nature of this grant. We will allow the current allocation strategy to proceed. Under probationary review."
He banged his gavel. "Hearing adjourned."
Elena didn’t speak until we were in the hallway, away from the prying eyes of the Senate.
She stopped, turned, and looked at with a mixture of shock and hunger.
"You blackmailed him," she whispered. "With his own budget."
"I presented a comparative analysis," I said innocently.
"You’re dangerous, Jake."
"I’m perceptive, there’s a difference."
She laughed, a short, breathless sound. "God, I love it when you act all cool."
She checked her watch.
"I have a donor lunch. But... Saturday."
The air shifted. The victory of the hearing faded, replaced by the looming threat of the ball.
"I expect you at my door at 7 PM sharp," she said. "Black tie. And Jake?"
"Yeah?"
"Don’t disappoint . Victoria Sterling is a shark, but I’m the one who grades your papers."
She walked away, her heels clicking on the marble floor.
I watched her go.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: Nice work in the hearing. My father hates the Provost too. You just made a powerful friend.
Victoria.
I stared at the screen. She had been watching. Or she had soone in the room.
Unknown Number: 7 PM Saturday. I’ll send the car. Don’t be late.
I looked at the two ssages in my head.
Elena: 7 PM. My door.
Victoria: 7 PM. My car.
I couldn’t be in two places at once.
I walked out into the sunlight. I had won the battle. But the war was just starting.
I needed a suit. A real one. Not off the rack.
I needed to look like I belonged in that ballroom, no matter whose arm I was on.
I headed toward the city. It was ti to spend so of that consulting money.
[Mission Update: The Winter Ball]
[Ti Remaining: 72 Hours]
[Objective: Choose a Side]
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