Page 178 of The Wrong Play

Callum started getting too comfortable.

There were compliments—subtle at first.Your insight is always so refreshing.I wish more students were as mature as you.You have such a natural intelligence—so rare to find these days.

Then, the timing of the emails got…odd. Messages sent past midnight. Responses riddled with overly familiar phrasing, unnecessary punctuation.

I narrowed my eyes, scrolling faster.

There it was.

A thread between Callum and one of his grad student assistants.

I sat up straighter, the air in my lungs coming out in a loud gasp.

The first few emails seemed normal enough—she had asked for clarification on a project she was assisting him with. He had responded.

But then…

Callum had offered her a better research position.

In exchange for…private meetings.

My hands clenched into fists.

The girl had refused, flat-out, without any hesitation. Her reply was clear and professional. She stated she wasn’t comfortable meeting outside of campus. She didn’t think it was appropriate. She thanked him for the opportunity, but she was not interested.

And Callum? He had responded by tanking her entire recommendation letter.

I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through my hair.

This was it. This was the kind of shit that could end him.

I copied everything. Screenshots, attachments, the whole fucking thread. But I wasn’t done. Not yet.

Because if I was going to take Callum out, I wasn’t going to do it halfway. Destroying the good professor’s career and reputation wasn’t just about exposing what he’d already done.

It was about making sure no one would ever doubt it.

I cracked my knuckles again and leaned forward, my focus razor-sharp as I pieced together something that looked airtight.

First, I adjusted the timestamps. Made it seem like the emails weren’t from years ago but were much more recent…like he hadjusttried to pull the same disgusting move with another student last week.

Next, I planted a fake complaint. A carefully crafted, anonymous email from a ‘former student,’ detailing inappropriate conduct, coercion, and academic tampering. I kept the language vague enough that it didn’t seem forced but specific enough that it would be undeniable.

Then came the paper trail.

With a few keystrokes, I linked his name to a dummy email account I’d created, one that ‘accidentally’ housed multiple attachments of inappropriate messages sent to ‘various students’ over the years. It wasn’t just about one case anymore—it was a pattern of misconduct.

People didn’t react to single scandals. They reacted to multiple scandals.

Callum was about to become a textbook example of a predator with a pattern.

I sat back, staring at the mess I’d created, my heart thudding hard in my chest.

Now, I just needed to drop the bomb.

I leaned back in my chair, rolling my shoulders as the email draft glowed on the screen in front of me. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, tension coiling in my chest. This wasn’t just about sending a message—it was about completely erasing Callum Westwood from the face of academia.

If the university thought they could bury this, if he thought he could get away with what he did to Riley—what he’d probably done to God knows how many others—they had another thing coming.

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