Zack was about to say sothing, but his phone buzzed. He looked at the notification, frowned, and held the screen up.
"Speaking of the devil. Quinn Carter just ssaged ."
"What does he want?"
"He’s... inviting us to a dinner party."
Stan’s eyebrow rose.
"Both of us. Tomorrow night. So hot pot place near campus." Zack scrolled through the ssage with the particular expression of a man reading a ransom note. "He says it’s a ’social gathering.’ Just a casual dinner with so friends."
"Quinn Carter has never invited you to anything in his life."
"Exactly." Zack set the phone down. "This is a trap. This is absolutely, one hundred percent a trap. A weasel offering New Year’s greetings to a chicken."
"I’m thinking of accepting the offer"
Zack looked at him as if he’d suggested swimming with sharks.
"Accepting his invitation? Stan, this man has spent the past week trying to destroy your reputation. He didn’t invite us to dinner out of friendship. He’s planning sothing."
"I know." Stan took a sip of his beer. "I want to see what it is, and I plan to end this bullshit tonight"
Zack stared at him for a long mont. Then he exhaled through his nose and picked up his own bottle.
"Fine. I’ll go with you. But if that weasel tries anything, anything, I’m punching the shii out of him. You’ve got my support in anything you do."
The hot pot restaurant was a familiar place, the sa one Stan and Zack used to frequent during their broke college days, back when splitting a single base broth between two people was a financial strategy rather than a lifestyle choice.
The fluorescent lights were the sa. The wobbly tables were the sa. The faintly sticky nus were the sa.
What was different was the crowd.
Quinn Carter had assembled a group of about fifteen people, mostly unfamiliar faces, a mix of n and won, arranged around a long table in the back of the restaurant.
A few of them looked uncomfortable. A few looked excited. One woman near the end of the table was holding her phone at a careful angle, the cara light blinking softly.
They were filming.
Quinn Carter was seated at the head of the table, wearing an expression of solemn, theatrical gravity, the look of a man who believed he was about to preside over a historic mont of justice.
He looked up as Stan walked in, and a flicker of surprise crossed his face.
"Stan Harrison." He straightened in his chair. "I didn’t think you’d actually show up."
"Here I am," Stan said, pulling out a chair and sitting down without waiting to be invited. Zack dropped into the seat beside him, arms folded, jaw set, radiating the quiet nace of a man who had been promised the opportunity to put soone’s face through a hot pot.
"Do you know why I asked you here?" Quinn’s voice had shifted into its public address register, the one he used when he wanted to sound important.
"No idea."
"We’re here," Quinn said, gesturing grandly at the assembled group, "to stand up for Sarah. To give her a platform to speak her truth. And to expose, once and for all, what you did to her."
He paused for effect, clearly savoring the mont.
"I’ve invited Sarah here tonight. She’s on her way. And when she arrives, she’s going to tell everyone, on cara, exactly how you exploited her. How you used her debt to manipulate her. How you treated her."
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming.
"And when she does, the whole campus will finally see you for what you really are. You won’t be able to hide behind excuses anymore. You won’t be able to charm your way out. It’ll all be on video. Permanent. Undeniable."
The woman with the phone adjusted her angle. The cara was pointed squarely at Stan.
Quinn sat back with the satisfied air of a man who had just lit a fuse and was waiting for the explosion.
Stan’s expression didn’t change.
His phone buzzed once in his pocket. He glanced down at the screen, keeping it below the table.
A Snapchat ssage from Sarah.
"Don’t worry, Stan. I have a plan. I’ll clear your na tonight. That Quinn guy is going to pay for everything he’s done."
Stan read the ssage once. Then he slipped the phone back into his pocket, leaned back in his chair, and picked up the nu.
"Should we order while we wait?" he asked pleasantly. "The spicy base here is pretty good."
Quinn blinked, montarily derailed by the fact that the man whose life he was about to destroy appeared to be more interested in soup flavors than self-preservation.
Zack, who had caught a glimpse of Stan’s phone screen, slowly uncrossed his arms.
A small, dangerous smile was beginning to form at the corner of his mouth.
"Oh," he thought. "This is going to be good."
Quinn Carter could barely contain himself. The trap was set. The cara was rolling. Sarah was on her way. In a matter of minutes, the video evidence of Stan Harrison’s true nature would be captured, uploaded, and distributed across every forum, group chat, and social dia feed at Peak University.
By tomorrow morning, even Sophie Youngs would see it. Even Maya Zimrman. Even Vivian Reeves. Every woman Stan Harrison had sohow chard would watch Sarah tearfully describe the exploitation, the manipulation, the debt used as a leash, and they would all, finally, see him for what he was.
Quinn’s career as Stan Harrison’s personal nesis was about to reach its triumphant conclusion.
"You’re still smiling?" Quinn snapped at Stan, who was casually examining the condint tray. "Enjoy it while it lasts. When Sarah gets here, that smile is going to disappear permanently."
"When Sarah gets here," Stan said pleasantly, "yours is the smile that’s going to have problems."
"Stubborn to the end." Quinn shook his head with mock pity. "Fine. We’ll see."
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