“It is a reality,” she said. “The offer stands, Daniel. The fifty thousand and the graduate track. It is more than enough to secure her future.”
“Lily wants a full investigation,” I said.
She stopped walking, her expression hardening as she looked at me.
“You are being stubborn, Mr. Walker,” she said. “This is a generous resolution.”
“The police will find what they find,” she said, her tone losing its warmth entirely. “But a father should think about his daughter’s long-term safety.”
“I am thinking about her safety,” I said.
She looked at me for several seconds, her media-trained eyes scanning my face for any sign of hesitation.
“This is your last opportunity to settle this quietly,” she said.
“I will see you in court, Margaret,” I said.
She turned on her heel and walked toward the elevators, her heels clicking against the linoleum. She left the unsigned check lying on the little plastic table near the visitor seating.
I watched her go, my hand reaching up to touch the silver oak leaf pin on my collar.
The drive back to my brick house on Oak Street was quiet, the cold morning air clearing the scent of the hospital from my coat.
By eight, Raymond Reyes was already sitting at my kitchen table, his large frame making the wooden chair look small. He adjusted his plain black wristwatch, his deep, gravelly rasp cutting through the hum of the old refrigerator.
“I ran the decryption on the drive we got from the athletic center,” Reyes said, not looking up from his rugged laptop.
He tapped the spacebar, and the screen flickered to life with grainy, gray-toned footage.
The campus plaza appeared on the screen, illuminated only by the faint spill of light from the chemistry building basement window. Three figures stood near the shadow of the brick archway, their faces obscured, but it was the fourth shape moving from the left that made me lean in close.
The fourth man wore the distinctive dark windbreaker of the campus security force, a silver badge catching the light on his chest.
“That is not Ethan Cole,” I said, pointing to the screen.
“No,” Reyes said, pausing the frame as the security guard raised a heavy heavy-duty flashlight and stepped directly toward the path where Lily had been walking. “The three boys were there, Daniel, but they did not touch her. They watched.”
The screen showed the guard swinging the metal cylinder, his movements precise and practiced, before the camera feed abruptly cut to static.
“Who is he?” I asked.
“The ID badge on his shoulder says Miller,” Reyes said, sliding a printed personnel roster across the table. “But the system has him listed as a temporary night watchman hired three months ago.”
I looked at the name on the paper, then at the black challenge coin sitting on the kitchen counter.
“We need his hiring file,” I said.
Reyes shut the laptop with a sharp click. “The administrative office keeps physical backups in the basement of the main hall, but they do not let civilians wander through the archives.”
“I am not going as a civilian,” I said.
The basement office of the campus administrative building smelled of old toner and damp carpeting.
A young clerk with thick glasses sat behind a counter, her fingers hovering over a beige keyboard as she looked up at me.
“I need the emergency contact and background file for a temporary guard named Marcus Miller,” I said, keeping my voice low and flat.
“Personnel records are restricted to department heads, sir,” she said, her eyes shifting to the security desk by the double doors.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my old security consultant credential, and laid it on the counter alongside a slip of paper with the date of the plaza incident.
“This is part of the active liability assessment for the board of trustees,” I said. “If the file is not verified by noon, the university’s insurance rider for the new science complex will be suspended.”
She hesitated, her mouse hovering over the database screen, before she clicked twice and a PDF file opened on her screen.
“He was hired under a fast-track program,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder. “The reference waiver was signed by the campus security division.”
“Whose signature is on the approval line?” I asked.
She tilted the monitor slightly so I could see the scanned document, the blue ink sharp against the gray background.
“Gregory Vance,” she said. “And the emergency contact phone number listed for Miller matches Detective Vance’s home address.”
I memorized the ten-digit number, took my credential back from the counter, and walked out into the cold October air.
