Page 153 of Filthy Elites

His full name is Grayson Pierce. He graduated from Whittmore three years ago and started working for the Greek Council. His job, he told me, is to help ensure the fraternities are adhering to University policy as well as the national policies set up by the Greek system.

Do I trust him? I don’t know.

Do I have a choice? I told him I did, but now I’m not so sure. I guess I need to hear him out.

At least getting to the location isn’t a challenge. I live in Corey Hall but on the third floor. I quietly slide out of bed, pulling a big Whittmore sweatshirt over my head and sliding my shoes on. Knowing I look like a wreck, I avoid looking at myself in the mirror and carefully open and shut the door as gently as possible.

Not wanting to run into anyone, I take the stairs, climbing the five flights to the top floor. It’s immediately obvious that the section of dorm I’m in is for male residents. There’s the ever-present stench of sweat and body spray. The dorms are co-ed, but still separated by a hallway. I’m still breathing hard when I knock on the dorm door. It opens a moment later and Grayson stands just inside.

“That was fast.”

“I was up.” I step into the room and take a deep breath. “Jesus, couldn’t find a room a few floors down?”

“No, actually.” He shuts the door, frowning in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I took the stairs, and my asthma kicked in. I’ll be fine.” I look around and realize the dorm room is vacant. Other than a suitcase on the bed, there’s nothing but the basic furniture every room comes with. “This your place?”

“No, actually,” he says, “this is your place.”

“What are you talking about?”

He picks up a folder off the desk and opens it. “Starting today, Reagan Lake is no longer a student at the university.”

“But I told my mom I was staying.”

“You are staying… just with a different identity.”

Nothing this guy is saying makes sense. Maybe the glasses just make him look smart. “What are you talking about?”

He gestures for me to sit in the desk chair. Reluctantly, I do. He holds up the folder and says, “I need you to have an open mind.”

“The fact I’m in this room with you right now proves I’m willing to be pretty open-minded, Grayson.”

“Right.” He gives me a tight smile. “To bring down the Zeta Sig’s we need someone on the inside.”

“Right. That’s you.”

“No,” he replies, “that’syou.”

“We’ve been over this. I can’t get within a hundred yards of fraternity row.”

“Reagan Lake can’t but, maybe this person can.” He hands me the folder. I open it up and look at the photo of a man—a young man, close to my age with familiar ash blonde hair and blue eyes.

“Why are you giving me this?” I ask, holding up the photograph.

“Because I did some research, and you have a stepbrother that is only a year older than you.”

I wave the photo in his face. “Yeah, Theodore. This is who you want to infiltrate the system?” I laugh. “Good luck with that. He’s an idiot. A college drop out that doesn’t know the difference between a bong and a chemistry beaker—hence the failing out. He’s not even in the country. He went to Spain six months ago to ‘find himself.’”

I roll my eyes and use finger quotes. Jesus.

“I don’t want your stepbrother to be our inside man. I want you to become Theodore and be our inside man.”

I gape. “Me? We don’t even look that much alike. We’re step-siblings. Not half.”

He snags the photo and holds it up to my face. “There’s more similarity there than you’d think.”

“This is ridiculous.”

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