"Yes," I said. "I took it from the CPR lab. Thorne hid it there. We have to take this to the local news, Mr. Davis. We have to send it to the state board of education. They can bypass Sterling."
"You went to the CPR lab tonight?" he asked, stepping away from the table. He walked over to the kitchen counter and picked up his tea kettle. "That was incredibly dangerous, Maya. Thorne has private security."
"I had to," I said, suddenly feeling a strange prickle of unease at how calm he was.
Mr. Davis poured a second mug of tea and set it on the table in front of me.
"Drink," he said gently. "You're shivering."
I wrapped my cold hands around the warm ceramic mug, but I didn't drink. I was staring at a framed piece of paper on the wall next to the refrigerator.
It was a certificate of appreciation from the St. Jude’s Board of Directors.
It read: Presented to Arthur Davis, Chairman of the Medical Scholarship Committee.
My blood ran cold.
“I checked it out because I was told to. Because if I didn't, I’d lose my athletic scholarship.” Liam's voice echoed in my mind.
Thorne couldn't rig the scholarship on his own. He was administration. The faculty committee chose the winner. Thorne needed the Chairman to cooperate. He needed Mr. Davis.
I slowly turned to look at Mr. Davis.
He wasn't looking at me. He was staring at the USB drive sticking out of the side of my laptop.
"Mr. Davis," I whispered, my heart slamming into my throat. "Who was Liam recording on the stairs?"
Davis froze. He slowly turned his head to look at me, and the gentle, paternal warmth completely vanished from his eyes, replaced by a cold, desperate survival instinct.
"He was recording me," Davis said quietly.
My breath caught.
"Sarah wouldn't take the bribe," Davis explained, his voice flat and dead. "Thorne needed Chloe to win the scholarship to secure the Sterling family donation. The school is practically bankrupt, Maya. Without that donation, we close our doors. I went to the stairs to convince her to drop out voluntarily. I told Liam to record it, to prove to Thorne that I tried. But Sarah... she recorded me on her phone. She said she was going to expose the whole scheme."
I stared at him in absolute horror. "And Thorne found out."
"Thorne intervened," Davis said, his hands gripping the edge of the counter until his knuckles turned white. "He tried to take her phone. It was an accident. But your sister is incredibly stubborn, Maya."
"You helped him cover it up," I breathed, backing away from the table. "You wiped the server. You hid the video."
"I was protecting the school," Davis yelled, suddenly slamming his hand down on the counter. "I was protecting hundreds of students who rely on this institution!"
I lunged for my laptop, my hand closing around the USB drive to pull it out.
But Davis was faster. He moved with a speed I didn't expect, grabbing my wrist with a crushing grip. He twisted my arm hard, forcing a scream out of my throat, and yanked the USB drive from the computer with his other hand.
"No!" I shrieked, kicking wildly at his legs.
Davis shoved me backward. I crashed into the kitchen island, knocking a bowl of fruit to the floor. Before I could regain my footing, Davis grabbed my backpack and threw it down the hallway.
"I'm sorry, Maya," he said, his voice trembling but completely ruthless. "You should have just taken the suspension."
He pulled a heavy cast-iron frying pan off the stovetop.
"Don't!" I screamed, raising my hands.
He swung.
The heavy iron connected with the side of my head. The kitchen exploded into a blinding flash of white light, and then the world instantly collapsed into total, suffocating darkness.
CHAPTER 4
Consciousness returned in brutal, fragmented waves.
First came the smell. The undeniable, sterile scent of warm plastic and isopropyl alcohol. I knew immediately where I was before I even opened my eyes.
I tried to lift my hands, but I couldn't move them. The abrasive scrape of heavy plastic zip-ties bit into the skin of my wrists, binding them tightly to the armrests of a hard metal chair. My ankles were secured to the front legs of the chair in the same way.
A sharp, nauseating pain throbbed on the right side of my head where Davis had hit me, a sickening counterpoint to the bruised cheek on my left.
I slowly opened my eyes, blinking against the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights.
I was sitting in the exact center of the CPR training lab. The rubber dummies on the surrounding tables stared at me with their empty, lifeless eyes.
Standing in front of me, partially bathed in shadows near the broken supply closet, were three figures.
Principal Thorne stood in the center, looking impeccably dressed and perfectly calm, holding my small silver USB drive in his hand. Mr. Davis stood to his left, looking pale and nauseous, sweating profusely in his heavy sweater.
And on the right, looking entirely out of place in her soaked navy blazer, was Chloe Sterling. She looked terrified, her eyes darting frantically between Thorne and me.