But as I reached the bottom of the first page, my breath completely left my body.
There was an authorization signature line. And written on that line in bold, blue ink, was a signature I had seen every single day of my childhood.
David Evans.
My dad.
I stumbled backward, dropping the envelope. The papers scattered across the dirty linoleum. I grabbed the doorframe of the locker to keep myself from falling.
"No," I whispered aloud, the sound echoing harshly in the empty hall. "No, no, no."
My dad was a building inspector. He didn't have access to the school's athletic funds. He barely knew how to use online banking. Why was his signature on the authorization form that moved eighty thousand dollars into a ghost account?
My mind raced, spiraling into a dark, terrifying vortex. Did my dad do it? Was Leo protecting him? Did my brother take the fall so our father wouldn't go to prison? And did that guilt drive Leo to his death?
The sound of a heavy metal door slamming shut at the far end of the hallway snapped me out of my panic. Footsteps. Loud, purposeful footsteps echoing on the tile.
I panicked. I dropped to the floor, blindly gathering the scattered papers. I shoved them back into the envelope, grabbed the black flash drive, and shoved everything deep into my backpack. I slammed locker 409 shut and snapped the padlock back into place just as the silhouette of the vice principal turned the corner.
I practically ran the opposite way, blending into the stream of students pouring out of classrooms as the bell rang for final period.
The rest of the day was a blur of nausea and dread. I sat in AP History, staring blankly at the chalkboard, the brown envelope burning a hole in my backpack. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my father’s signature. The neat, looping 'D', the sharp, jagged 'E'. It was perfect. It was undeniable.
When the final bell finally rang at 3:15 PM, I didn't stop at my locker. I bolted for the exit. I just needed to get to my car, get home, and plug that flash drive into my laptop. I needed to know the whole truth, even if it destroyed the last piece of my family.
I pushed through the heavy glass doors and stepped out into the freezing November air. The student parking lot was a chaotic maze of idling cars, honking horns, and teenagers shouting across the asphalt.
I kept my head down, weaving through the rows of cars toward the back corner where I always parked my beat-up 2010 Honda Civic.
I was ten feet away from my bumper when a shadow detached itself from the side of a massive black SUV.
"Going somewhere so soon, Evans?"
I froze. Trent stepped out into the aisle, blocking my path to the driver's side door. He wasn't smiling anymore. His jaw was clenched, his shoulders squared. He looked massive, like a predator blocking the exit of a trap.
I took a step back, but a hand suddenly grabbed the strap of my backpack from behind, jerking me to a violent halt.
"Not so fast," Chase said, stepping out from behind a silver sedan, his grip tight on my bag.
My heart hammered against my ribs. We were in the far back corner of the lot, surrounded by tall vehicles. The main crowd was fifty yards away, completely oblivious to what was happening.
"Let go of me," I demanded, trying to force authority into my voice, but it came out as a thin, reedy shake.
Trent stepped closer, crowding my space until I could smell the overpowering scent of his body spray. "Chloe wants the notebook, Harper. Hand it over, and maybe we don't accidentally back a truck over your piece of crap Honda."
"I don't have it," I lied, my voice trembling.
"You're a terrible liar," Chase muttered, jerking my backpack strap again, pulling me slightly off balance. "Just give it to us. You don't even know what you're looking at."
"If I don't know what it is, why does Chloe care so much?" I fired back, adrenaline suddenly spiking through my terror.
Trent's eyes darkened. "Last chance, Evans."
He lunged for the front pocket of my hoodie.
I didn't think. I reacted. I swung my elbow backward as hard as I could, catching Chase squarely in the ribs. He grunted, his grip loosening just enough for me to slip my shoulder out of the backpack strap.
I lunged forward, throwing my entire body weight into Trent. It was like hitting a brick wall, but the sheer surprise of it made him stumble back half a step.
I scrambled past him, frantically digging my keys out of my pocket. I hit the unlock button, threw open the driver's side door of the Honda, and dove inside, pulling the door shut just as Trent’s heavy hands slammed against the window.
Click.