Chapter 3 Rumors and Receipts

# Chapter 3 — Rumors and Receipts

The newspaper clipping changed everything. I spent the entire night staring at it, tracing my father's name with my fingertip, wondering how Dr. Hale had found it—and why he'd given it to me.

By morning, I had convinced myself to confront him. But when I checked my phone, there was a notification from the campus forum app that derailed my plans entirely.

*BOMBSHELL: Professor-Student Sex Ring for Grades?*

My hands shook as I opened the thread. An anonymous user had posted blurry photos of what appeared to be a female student entering a private study room with a male professor. Their faces weren't visible, but the clothing was unmistakable—my burgundy sweater, his charcoal jacket.

*Sources confirm certain students are trading "private tutoring" for grade bumps. Ethics department involved. Administration investigating.*

Comments were pouring in by the second:

*OMG is that who I think it is?*

*Which prof? Spill the tea!*

*Bet it's that hot ethics prof. Have you seen how the girls in his class dress?*

*This is disgusting. They should both be expelled.*

I closed the app, my breathing shallow. This couldn't be happening.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Jada said, appearing in my doorway with two coffee mugs. "Bad hangover?"

I shook my head, unable to speak. Jada set the coffee down and sat on my bed, her dark eyes studying me.

"Okay, something's up. You've been weird for weeks. Staying out late, being secretive..." She paused. "Is this about your mystery sugar daddy?"

"He's not—" I stopped myself. "It's complicated."

Jada took my phone and scrolled through the forum thread, her expression darkening. When she looked up, her face was unreadable.

"Callie, I need you to be straight with me. Is this about you?"

The question hung in the air between us. Jada had been my roommate for three years, my friend for longer. We'd survived finals week meltdowns, bad breakups, and her parents' messy divorce. But this felt different—like a test of our friendship I wasn't sure we'd pass.

"The photos are too blurry to tell," I deflected.

"That's not what I asked." Her voice was gentle but firm. "You've been having private meetings with Dr. Hale, haven't you? The same nights you tell me you're at the library until closing?"

My silence was answer enough.

"Oh, Cal." She sighed, disappointment evident. "Is he forcing you? Threatening your grades? Because if he is—"

"It's not like that," I interrupted. "He's helping me understand ethics beyond the textbook. Real-world applications."

"With the door closed? In private study rooms?" Jada's skepticism was palpable. "And let me guess—he's just doing this out of the goodness of his heart?"

I thought about the envelope of cash, still untouched in my drawer. The newspaper clipping about my father. The way Dr. Hale looked at me like he could see straight through my carefully constructed defenses.

"I haven't done anything wrong," I said finally.

Jada stood up. "If that's true, then you have nothing to worry about." She paused at the door. "Just be careful, Cal. Men like that—professors with power—they're playing a different game than we are."

She left me alone with my coffee and my racing thoughts.

The campus was buzzing with the scandal by lunchtime. I kept my head down, hoodie pulled up despite the warm spring day. In the cafeteria, I overheard snippets of conversations:

"I heard it's that blonde in Tuesday's section..."

"No way, it's definitely the brunette who always sits in front..."

I grabbed a sandwich and fled to the quiet corner of the arts building where I sometimes ate alone. To my surprise, I found Lisa Chen, another student from my ethics class, already there.

"Mind if I join?" I asked, hesitant.

Lisa shrugged. "Free country."

We ate in silence for a few minutes before she spoke again.

"People are being really gross about this whole scandal thing."

I tensed. "What do you mean?"

"Like, even if it's true, why is everyone assuming the girl is some kind of victim or slut? Maybe she's just trying to pass a hard class. Not everyone has parents paying their way through college." Lisa took a bite of her apple. "Besides, Dr. Hale is hot. Half the class would sleep with him without the grade incentive."

I nearly choked on my sandwich. "You think it's true then? About Dr. Hale?"

Lisa gave me a long look. "I think people with power use it to get what they want. And people without power do what they need to survive." She gathered her things. "Just don't believe everything you read on that toxic forum."

After she left, I checked the thread again. The comments had doubled, and someone had enhanced one of the photos. Though still grainy, the burgundy sweater was now clearly visible—the same one hanging in my closet with the small coffee stain on the left cuff.

My hands trembled as I closed the app. I needed to talk to Dr. Hale, to warn him. But when I tried to email him, I discovered his university account had been suspended.

*Dr. Hale is currently unavailable. Please direct all inquiries to the Department Chair.*

I spent the rest of the day in a fog of anxiety, jumping at every notification on my phone. When a text finally came from an unknown number, my heart nearly stopped.

*Campus security office. 5PM. Come alone. - Q*

At 4:55, I stood outside the security office, gathering my courage. The hallway was deserted—most students had already left for the weekend. I was about to knock when a hand gripped my elbow.

"Not here," Dr. Hale whispered, steering me toward a service stairwell. "We're being watched."

He looked different—tired, his usual immaculate appearance slightly rumpled. But his eyes were as intense as ever.

"What's happening?" I asked once the stairwell door closed behind us. "The forum, the pictures—"

"Someone's trying to destroy me," he said flatly. "And using you to do it."

"But who would—"

"It doesn't matter who." He ran a hand through his hair. "What matters is protecting you. The university has opened an investigation. They'll call you in for questioning soon."

"What should I say?"

"The truth. That I've been providing additional academic support to help you pass a course you've struggled with."

"And the money?" I asked quietly.

His eyes met mine. "What money, Callie? Did I ever give you money?"

I understood then. He was offering me a way out—a clean narrative that would protect us both.

"No," I said slowly. "You never gave me money."

"Good." He nodded. "They'll try to twist things, to make it seem sordid. Don't let them."

"What about the newspaper clipping? My father's accident?"

Something flickered across his face—regret? "A miscalculation on my part. I wanted to show you that I understood you, your motivations. That I'd done my research."

"It felt like a threat," I admitted.

"It wasn't meant to be." He stepped closer. "Callie, I need you to trust me. Whatever you've heard, whatever you think you know about me—"

The stairwell door banged open above us. We froze.

"Dr. Hale?" A woman's voice echoed. "The Dean is waiting for your statement."

"Go," he whispered to me. "Use the exit at the bottom. We can't be seen together."

I hesitated. "When will I see you again?"

"When this blows over. If it blows over." He touched my cheek briefly. "Remember what I taught you about ethical frameworks. Sometimes the right choice isn't the easy one."

Then he was gone, taking the stairs two at a time toward the administrator's voice.

I slipped out the bottom exit as instructed, emerging into the fading daylight. My phone buzzed with a campus alert:

*Ethics Professor Suspended Pending Investigation*

I was halfway back to my apartment when another text came through—this time from a different unknown number:

*Check your mailbox. You're not the first. Won't be the last. - J.L.*

My hands shook as I opened our building's communal mailbox. Inside was a manila envelope with no return address. Heart pounding, I tore it open.

Inside was a glossy photograph—crystal clear, not like the blurry forum pictures. It showed Dr. Hale and me in the underground parking garage after our first "tutoring" session. His hand on my waist. My face turned up to his. The moment just before he'd leaned down and whispered something that made me blush.

A moment I'd told no one about.

The initials J.L. burned in my mind. Jada Lin? My own roommate?

I raced upstairs, bursting into our apartment ready for confrontation. But Jada wasn't there. On her bed was a note:

*Staying at Tyler's for the weekend. We should talk when I get back. - J*

I collapsed onto my bed, the photograph clutched in my hand. Who was J.L. if not Jada? Who was watching us? And more importantly, what did Dr. Hale—Quentin—really want from me?

The newspaper clipping about my father's accident stared up at me from my bedside table. Somehow, I knew these weren't random pieces. They were a puzzle, and I was missing the most important part.