Chapter 4
FOUR
No matter how much I personally hate using social warfare, there’s no denying its effectiveness.
I’m also gut-wrenchingly aware that biases like that get people killed, and the not-so-small fact that they’re a result of my own incompetencies in this area, so I watch Avery work with the type of intense focus I always use when learning life-saving skills.
She doesn’t disappoint; I get a masterclass from a true savant in the art of political warfare, and it’s both everything and nothing like I thought it would be.
The text itself is a Trojan horse; a kill order disguised as teenage gossip.
It’s a jarring reminder of just how removed from the ‘normal world’ I am because I struggle to believe someone could be naive enough to miss it, but Avery is adamant that message is banal enough to be argued in front of the school discipline board with ease.
The ruthless queen bee of Hannaford doesn’t bother with niceties, but it’s not like anyone would expect that from a Beaumont anyway. Instead, hidden in the girl-speak, she lists his crimes and her expectations for his punishment. Two paragraphs, three minutes, and Lance’s execution order is out.
I’m well aware that the most brutal moves on a board can be quiet and unassuming, but I still get that same disjointed feeling that gossip and bullshit always give me. That’s not to say that I’m doubting Avery’s tactics but give me a sharp knife in a crowded party at the Docks any day of the week.
Sure enough, that text message is all it takes, and Lance wakes up the next morning to a whole new reality.
His bedroom is trashed by his roommates, only for them to blame him for it and be kicked out.
Then he’s put on academic probation for cussing out another freshman in class, and the dorm supervisor is forced to send him down to sleep in the nurse’s office when he finds Lance sleeping in the hallway outside of his room.
On Wednesday, he’s running late because other students keep stopping him to pick fights, and it’s only when he finally arrives to his first class that he finds his assignments are missing from his bag.
He goes to the administration about it, and we’re dragged into a whole-school assembly to discuss the escalation in hazing and bullying.
That only makes matters worse.
By breakfast on Thursday, Avery informs me that there isn’t a single student in the entire school who is willing to acknowledge the other Mounty kid’s existence.
With her trademark smug smirk, she’s practically gloating. “The only interactions he has are the other guys jumping him in the hallways and taunting him with demands to join them at the fight club.”
Meeting her eyes across the table, I can’t help smirking back at the violent sort of satisfaction oozing out of her. “He didn’t last very long on your hit list. It’s almost pathetic really.”
The feeling doesn’t last long, and the smirk slides off my face as unease fills me.
I tell myself the pressure building in my chest isn’t about Lance, and it’s actually jealousy of Avery’s ability to shovel pancakes into her mouth at a brisk pace while still looking like a delicate, refined lady.
I’m sure I look something like Cookie Monster as I tear into my own bowl of, sigh , muesli.
I’m trying to get more variety in my breakfast because I’ve gorged myself on French toast since Winter break.
Between that and the constant supply of ice cream in our room, I’ve lost that ‘starved’ look and, God, has it done wonders for my boobs.
Namely, I have some now.
I’m still sulking over my food when Avery checks her phone with a huff. “That idiot might not have lasted long on my list, but it never really gets any shorter. Speaking of, there’s a party tonight, out in the old groundskeeper’s cottage. I think we should go.”
What the hell is with rich kids and partying on school nights?
“Is there a specific reason why or are we just enjoying our youth?” I ask, and she scoffs.
She pokes her knife at me as she replies, “We don’t ever do things for fun, Lips. We’re just not wired that way.”
I shrug, but she has a point; I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed something that didn’t also benefit my plans for survival.
Avery arches her eyebrow at me with a little smile, fusses with her phone, then hands it to me.
There’s a photo of Joey with his arm around a woman who is definitely not a student—at least, not a high school student.
Dressed in a sharp pantsuit and heels, with a sleek bob haircut and minimal makeup, she’s attractive enough in an understated way and nothing like the girls I’ve seen that flock around him.
She looks more like a lawyer or some business executive.
Avery tucks back into her breakfast as she lays it all out for me.
“This charming lady is one of the new hires for Hannaford’s in-house legal team.
On top of handling the school’s robust legal needs, they’re also available for the students here to use.
Mostly, they help advise students with planning their career paths and navigating college admissions, but they’ve also been known to wipe juvenile convictions from student records and writing NDAs to preserve the legacy of the school.
Now, instead of doing anything for Joey that might actually be useful to me, this woman is sucking his dick in her office every Tuesday and Friday during their scheduled meetings. ”
I make a face as she swipes her thumb across the screen, and I see the photographic evidence. “For future reference, I’ll take your word on shit like that.”
Avery hums under her breath and pulls the phone back to pocket it.
She looks around the busy dining hall in a way that makes her look haughty.
I used to think she was looking down at everyone, but now I know this is just her plotting.
She’s planning and making connections in her head; the students milling around her have no idea about the scale of the manipulation going on while they eat.
“I need to get some photos of him at the party, ideally with girls and blow, so I can send her a nice little slideshow, ending with the photo of her on her knees. She’s fresh out of college and getting an ego-boost out of him, thinking she’s somehow the one calling the shots, and I need the slimy bitch to know how far out of her league she really is with him. ”
I push my plate away from myself with a sigh, my appetite firmly gone thanks to the photo. “Why not call the cops?”
I’m curious about her answer as I’m sure it will reveal more of her family dynamics.
She shrugs back. “He’s eighteen, so it’s not illegal. I could send the photos to the school board, but then my father will get involved and he will just make her disappear.”
Her voice becomes clipped toward the end, and she clears her throat uncomfortably.
I’ve never been one to poke at wounds unless I have to, so I redirect. “Pay off or burial?”
She hesitates for a second, glancing around again before she answers. “Usually, it’s a threat. Senior doesn’t part with his money for any woman. If she doesn’t take him seriously, then he sends chaos.”
Chaos.
There are many things I could send someone’s way if I wanted to deliver a message, so I can only imagine what the billionaire Joseph Beaumont could do.
I nod and wipe my hands thoughtfully, mulling over her plan.
Finally, I shrug and say, “We’ll go. I can get the photos you need.
Information collection is my specialty.”
Avery has ballet practice after class, so I eat dinner in the dining hall by myself before meeting her back in our room to get ready. It’s the first party we’ve ever gone to together so, despite the reason we’re attending, I put a lot of energy into planning my outfit and makeup.
After Harley’s warning about the money still being up for grabs, I’m wary about how tonight is going to pan out, and I decide not to tempt fate with a skirt.
It’s still too hot to wear jeans and a jacket, so I go with a black halter top playsuit that just manages to cover my ass, then I put on the thickest cotton underwear I own for good measure.
Unfortunately, it means drinking is potentially a no-go because peeing in a romper is a bitch, and if there are no working toilets at this ‘cottage’, there’s no way I’m getting naked in the woods just to pee.
The parties back home have honed my skills to a fine art, and I’m good to go in less than ten minutes; my favorite pair of Docs sitting by the door ready to be pulled on as we leave.
Avery’s prep time is nowhere near as concise as mine, but the wait gives me an extra hour of studying, so I’m not complaining.
Halfway through doing her hair, she starts raging that her favorite pair of Louboutin's are missing, and despite the list of reasons she’s angry about it, all I catch is that they’re one of a kind and irreplaceable, which is Beaumont for gut-wrenchingly expensive.
When she eventually runs out of steam and looks at me expectantly, I call her out for being too rich to take care of her shit.
I do it with a smile, the new type I’ve discovered I’m capable of that’s drenched with affection, and it works like a charm to defuse her rage.
With a playful scoff, she disappears into the bathroom to finish getting ready.