Page 16 of Hailey Goes to College

I click on it, my heart pounding. The post is a few years old, but it mentions a teenager named Ryan who had a knack for making profitable trades. The poster, who seems to be an older trader, talks about how impressive Ryan’s skills were for someone so young and speculates about his potential. There’s no direct link to anything illegal, but it’s clear that Ryan has been involved in trading for a long time.

This isn’t exactly new information. Ryan told me that he’s always been interested in this stuff, but he did make it seem like it was only for the good of his family farm, which I’m starting to think is a major business and not some type of Little House on the Prairie situation. I decide to look into his friends from the soccer game and start looking up their social media profiles. They’re all pretty generic, and I can tell they only use Facebook as some sort of trading page. A few are on Instagram but they have bland feeds if not private profiles. None of them seem to have a personality all their own. Alex though, he attended a Cubs game, so I focus on him.

I find a series of photos from a trip he took over the summer. One picture stands out: Alex, Ryan, and a few other guys I don’t recognize, standing in front of a large building with the sign “Futures Trading Conference.” I zoom in on the photo, trying to read the details. The conference was held in Chicago, and from the looks of it, they all attended together. This proves nothing other than they’re all kind of lame and stereotypical. I am starting to wonder if the real story here is finance majors having zero personality outside of making money. Then, I find a post from a few weeks ago. It’s a check-in at a fancy downtown restaurant with the caption: “Celebrating another trade with the crew. #winning #financelife.”

I click on the photo, recognizing Ryan in the background. He’s smiling, looking relaxed and happy, but there’s something about the image that makes me uneasy. The comments on the post are congratulatory, with people asking for tips and advice on trading. One comment catches my eye:

“Another tip? You guys are killing it! Let me know next time you have a hot lead.”

My heart skips a beat. Insider tips? That’s a serious accusation, even if it’s just a casual comment on a social media post. I quickly jot down the details and decide to keep digging.

I search for any other mentions of Ryan and his friends in connection to insider trading. It’s a long shot, but I find another forum where people discuss stock tips and trading strategies. In one thread, someone mentions a group of college students who seem to have an uncanny knack for predicting stock movements. The poster speculates that they might have some inside information, though they don’t name anyone specifically.

Feeling a mix of dread and determination, I take a break and head to the library’s coffee shop for a much-needed caffeine boost. As I sip my coffee, I think about everything I’ve found. There’s no concrete evidence that Ryan is involved in anything illegal, but there are enough hints and rumors to make me suspicious. Maybe Kelsey was right, maybe he blew up at me to make me feel bad about something real.

I return to my laptop and decide to dig into the financial side of things. I search for any recent news about unusual trading activities linked to our university. After a few dead ends, I come across a local news article from a few months ago. It mentions an investigation into suspicious trading patterns traced back to several university IP addresses, but the details are vague. No names are mentioned, but the article notes that the university is cooperating with authorities to identify the individuals involved.

My heart races as I read the article. This could be related to the rumors Josh mentioned. If Ryan and his friends are using their dorms for trading and somehow got involved in something shady, it might explain the investigation. But I need more proof.

I decide to take a bold step and check the university’s public records. Sometimes, disciplinary actions or investigations are noted in these records, even if the details are confidential. I log into the student portal and navigate to the public records section, hoping to find anything that might shed light on the situation. After sifting through various reports and notices, I find a document listing recent disciplinary actions. My eyes scan the page, looking for any familiar names. Then, I see it: “Investigation ongoing—Financial misconduct—Students from Hamilton Hall.”

The names are redacted, but I know this can’t be a coincidence. Ryan has to be involved in this—the nothing that he so adamantly proclaimed is in fact something.

Feeling a mix of anger and sadness, I close my laptop. Ryan is involved, and if he isn’t involved he’s protecting those who are. This time when I confront him it won’t be as a hopeful girlfriend, it’ll be as someone he should respect, a journalist. I gather everything, intent on putting all the evidence together so he can’t dismiss me again.

As I leave the library I try to formulate a plan in my head of how to go about it. I can’t rush him in a fit of rage, he’ll brush me off again, call me something derisive again like the Nancy Drew comment. I have to be calm but forceful. Most importantly I can’t allow myself to think about how what I really want is for him to kiss me and tell me it’s all been just a big misunderstanding.

I spend the rest of the day gathering my thoughts and choosing my words for my conversation with Ryan. Our connection is fragile. I hunt down Matt, get his class schedule, and plan to catch him after his next lecture. The next morning, I arrive at the lecture hall early and wait outside, my nerves on edge. Students start to trickle out, chatting and laughing, oblivious to the turmoil inside me. Finally, I see Ryan walking out, engrossed in a conversation with one of his friends. He spots me and his expression hardens, but he masks it with indifference.

He walks past me without a word, clearly hoping to avoid a scene. I fall into step beside him, determined to get answers. “Ryan, we need to talk.”

He looks at me, his face blank. “No, we really don’t.”

I don’t respond but I don’t leave, either, choosing to continue walking with him until his friend awkwardly starts walking in the other direction.

“What do you want, Hailey?” he asks, his voice tinged with annoyance. “I thought we already went over this.”

My resolve starts to wane, but I straighten my back and let out a harsh breath. “I looked you up.” Now, that makes me sound like a psycho. “I mean I looked up stuff about you. School and trading.” That was better but not exactly what I planned.

He rolls his eyes. “And? Hailey, why are you acting like I’m a heroin dealer?”

Great question. I definitely have an answer to that. In my bag. I can pull it out and throw it in his face, shove the folder against his chest proclaiming ‘Explain this!’ in triumph. “I’m not,” is what I lamely say. “I’m just asking if you or someone you know is doing things in a way that some people might think is wrong.” What a backbone of steel I have.

“No, Hailey,” he sounds so condescending. “Me and my friends are good little boys and girls. I’m not Gordon Gecko here. My dad used to read to me about the market, would let me pick stocks to buy, helped me buy my first stock after I graduated from high school. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

“And your friends?”

He breathes out a laugh, rolling his head back and adjusting his backpack strap. “For the last time, no one is doing any insider trading. What, you think my friends and I have dads who work for Apple or Berkshire or Vanguard?”

I hug my arms around my waist, feeling stupid. “I just wanted to get to the truth. I have to do a good job on this.”

“Well, now you know.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He shakes his head. “I like you, Hailey, but this,” he moves his hand back and forth between us, “isn’t going to work. You’re creating drama where there isn’t any.”

“Wait-”

---