Page 7 of See Me After Class

I punched in the number I had committed to memory, my heart pounding in my ears with every metallic click of the dial.

On the third ring, a deep, gravelly voice answered. "Hartley."

I drew a steadying breath, my voice lowering to match his gravitas. "It's me. I need your help."

A pregnant pause on the other end before he replied, a note of caution creeping into his tone, "This line isn't secure."

"Old habits die hard," I retorted, glancing at the phone, "But this line is as secure as they come."

Hartley chuckled, a deep rumble over the line. "What do you need?"

"I need a new identity, one with connections. Wealthy ones."

There was a pause before he responded, "Why?"

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't necessary."

"What's the situation?" His voice was businesslike.

"I'm investigating a murder," I said, the words hanging heavily in the air, "At the Oswald Gardner Institute."

Hartley whistled softly. "That's the big leagues. You sure about this?"

"I've never been surer," I replied, my tone firm and resolute.

Hartley sighed deeply, the sigh of a man burdened with knowledge. "Alright. I can get you set up as a Davenport. Old money, East Coast. Your parents would be trustees, well-respected philanthropists with a soft spot for medical research. Sent you to the finest boarding schools, Stanford undergrad, a year at Oxford."

I blinked. "A Davenport?"

"The Davenports have enough clout to get you into the institute, and they're well enough known that no one will question it. But they're also private, even reclusive. It will explain why nobody's ever heard of their darling daughter who's suddenly shown up."

I closed my eyes, letting out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. This was a start, a solid plan. This was my way in.

"Thank you, Hartley."

"Just doing my job," he replied gruffly, the sentiment lingering as the line went dead, leaving me alone once more in the dimly lit room with my thoughts and the hum of the dial tone.

"It's not over, Dad," I muttered under my breath. "It's not over until I get them."

3

John

Suck it up and get it over with, John. Doesn't matter if she's a trust fund baby or the President of America herself.

My brows knitted into a heavy scowl as I navigated the winding descent of the staircase that led to the imposing Oswald Gardner Research Institute.

It was a quintessential Monday morning, mirroring my discontent with an unrelenting show of gray. The sky was an uninspired canvas of sullen clouds, the wind gnawing at my resolve with its icy teeth.

Then again, it was hard to focus on anything else as a flash of audacious purple materialized against the monochrome backdrop, mocking the somber aesthetic of the institute I so deeply loved.

A sleek and unapologetically flamboyant Lamborghini was rolling toward me, its glossy surface glinting with arrogance.

As if I needed anything more to add to the irritation building, lava-like, in my core. My lips curled in a sneer. Ourguesthad a thing for excesses.

She's not a guest,I reminded myself.She's the new psychology postdoctoral resident.

Well, I haven't even met her, and she's a fucking nightmare already.

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