Chapter Nine
I don’t sleep. Contrary to the promise I made Kelsey, I do let my imagination run away from me. I imagine the FEDS coming in and arresting Ryan. I imagine him hating me for writing false allegations against him and never speaking to me again. Most of all I think about how I feel like I have to choose between writing the story Kevin wants or staying in happy oblivion with Ryan. I’m eighteen, I shouldn’t worry about things like insider trading or money laundering—what is this, a Scorsese movie?
Early the next morning, I decide to text Ryan. My fingers hover over my phone, my heart pounding.
Hey Ryan, would you like to meet for coffee this morning?
I hit send and wait, my nerves on edge. His reply comes almost immediately.
Sure, how about 8:30 at the student center?
Perfect. See you then.
I exhale, trying to steady my racing heart. I have a little over an hour to prepare myself. Kelsey is still asleep, so I quietly get dressed and head out, my mind a whirl of anxiety and determination. I wish I could have talked to Kelsey about it, but I didn’t want to wake her. I mean… am I jumping to conclusions that Ryan could somehow be involved? There’s got to be hundreds of Ryan’s that go to this school and at least a handful that are business majors. It’s probably a coincidence and I’m overreacting. As I walk to the student center, I go over what I want to say, rehearsing different scenarios in my head.
When I arrive, I find a quiet corner and sit down, trying to calm my nerves. I see Ryan walk in a few minutes later, looking as handsome and confident as ever. My heart aches at the thought that he might be hiding something from me. Could I really be that poor a judge of character?
“Hey, Hailey,” he says with a warm smile, sitting down across from me.
“Hey,” I say, wiping my palms against my thighs. “Sorry about the early meetup.”
“No problem,” he leans back in his chair. “I was up. I assume this isn’t because you couldn’t wait to see me.”
“No!” I rush to assure him. “Of course, I wanted to see you. But I wanted to talk to you about something.” I lean forward, putting my hands on the table. He glances down and lets the legs of his chair fall to the ground and mimics my position.
“So you know how I wanted to join the newspaper?” He nods. “Well, I was asked to ask around about something. It’s probably so stupid. Like, you’ll laugh. Then we’ll laugh. It’ll be a laugh.”
“Great. Can’t wait to have a laugh.” He doesn’t sound like it.
“So I was talking to this guy, Josh Thompson, do you know him?”
The look on his face tells me he does. “Vaguely.”
“Right. Well, he says that there may be some students who are a little…enthusiastic about their stock trading.”
“Enthusiastic,” he draws, as if repeating my words back to me will make him understand better. “Are you asking if I’m one of those…enthusiastic people?”
Ugh. When he says it like that it makes me sound like a psycho. “He mentioned Hamilton. And a Ryan.”
“And naturally you thought of me.”
“You’re the only Ryan I know in our dorm,” I remind him, shrugging my shoulders.
His face twists into a scowl and he sits back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m the only person you know,” he bites.
That stings, but I choose to ignore it. “I just want to be able to eliminate you. Or if you know if it’s just all bull shit I can tell Kevin now and then write about something else.”
“A lot of the guys play at stockbroker already. It’s not a big deal or a secret. Not sure why this is a story .” He spits out the word as if it’s offensive.
“So you aren’t involved.” It’s not a question. I want to move on, forget this conversation ever happened.
“I’m not involved ,” he grinds out, “because there’s nothing to be involved in.”
He stands up and moves to leave, and I hit my knees on the table in my hurry to stand and stop him. “Wait. I’m sorry. I was just trying to do a good job.”
“I’m not a Bond villain, Nancy Drew, and I don’t really want to wait around while you figure that out.”
He walks out without waiting for a response and I contemplate chasing after him and apologizing, to explain that I wasn’t trying to accuse him of anything. I sit down, thankful that it’s so early and there hasn’t been anyone around to witness the embarrassing scene. I push the palms of my hands into my eyes, willing myself not to cry. It’s stupid to cry over someone you’ve been on one date with and who then insulted you by calling you Nancy Drew. Little does he know his insult wasn’t one at all to me, I loved Nancy Drew, she was the shit
I drag myself up and out of the student center, walking slowly back to the dorm so as not to run into him. I should tell Kevin the story is bogus and ask about writing about the chicken finger shortage in the dining hall. At least that’s something people actually want to read about. Why do I even care so much? It’s not like I’ve decided to be a journalism major. So far all it’s done is cost me a date.
Kelsey is up when I get back and I must have a horrible poker face because she gives me a pitying look as soon as I close the door.
“This,” she circles a finger in front of her face, “does not look like good news.”
“I talked to Ryan,” I tell her, walking over to my bed and falling face-first into my pillow.
“That bad?” I feel the bed shift as she sits next to me and runs her fingers through my hair.
I sigh and turn my head. “He got really mad. Walked out. Accused me of playing Nancy Drew.”
“I’m sorry, Hailey.” She looks over my bed and stares at the wall for a moment. “Do you think he’s done something? You know what they say about the lady doth protest too much.”
I frown. It hadn’t crossed my mind before. I sit up, disentangling myself from her. Did I truly think Ryan has done anything untoward? No, but that doesn’t make it true. We’ve not known each other very long, and one date a trusting relationship does not make. “I don’t know,” I confess and I snatch my bag up from the floor. “But I’m going to find out.”
“What do you mean?” She looks down as I flip through my Moleskin. “Hailey, what are you going to do?”
“Before he stormed out, Ryan called me Nancy Drew, so that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Nancy got into a lot of trouble in those books,” she reminds me. “Are you sure this is what you want to do? Maybe you should just forget about it.”
That’s probably the smart thing to do, but I don’t want to drop it. The way Ryan got mad at me makes me think there’s something there, something I should push. Maybe he’s right and there is nothing to be involved in, but if he gets that upset over the word “enthusiastic” I can’t help but wonder who else would.
“Don’t worry, I won’t hide in any grandfather clocks trying to figure out who knows about Microsoft deals or whatever.” I’ll just hide at Starbucks kiosks waiting for someone to start bragging about things they shouldn’t.
I skip my morning classes in favor of the library, hoping to find something I can use. I just pray I won’t have to use a microfiche machine. When I reach the library I find it quiet, with only a few students scattered around, immersed in their studies. I find a secluded corner and set up my laptop, determined to uncover the truth about Ryan and the rumors. I start by searching for any news articles or reports related to online trading at our university. Nothing significant comes up, which makes sense since Josh said it was mostly rumors.
Next, I decide to dig into Ryan’s past. I type his full name into the search engine, adding keywords like “business,” “finance,” and “trading.” At first, I don’t find much—just some basic information about his high school achievements and some social media profiles. But then I stumble upon a discussion forum for aspiring stock traders. One thread catches my eye: “Young Trading Prodigy from Northern Illinois.”
I click on it, my heart pounding. The post is a few years old, but it mentions a teenager named Ryan who had a knack for making profitable trades. The poster, who seems to be an older trader, talks about how impressive Ryan’s skills were for someone so young and speculates about his potential. There’s no direct link to anything illegal, but it’s clear that Ryan has been involved in trading for a long time.
This isn’t exactly new information. Ryan told me that he’s always been interested in this stuff, but he did make it seem like it was only for the good of his family farm, which I’m starting to think is a major business and not some type of Little House on the Prairie situation. I decide to look into his friends from the soccer game and start looking up their social media profiles. They’re all pretty generic, and I can tell they only use Facebook as some sort of trading page. A few are on Instagram but they have bland feeds if not private profiles. None of them seem to have a personality all their own. Alex though, he attended a Cubs game, so I focus on him.
I find a series of photos from a trip he took over the summer. One picture stands out: Alex, Ryan, and a few other guys I don’t recognize, standing in front of a large building with the sign “Futures Trading Conference.” I zoom in on the photo, trying to read the details. The conference was held in Chicago, and from the looks of it, they all attended together. This proves nothing other than they’re all kind of lame and stereotypical. I am starting to wonder if the real story here is finance majors having zero personality outside of making money. Then, I find a post from a few weeks ago. It’s a check-in at a fancy downtown restaurant with the caption: “Celebrating another trade with the crew. #winning #financelife.”
I click on the photo, recognizing Ryan in the background. He’s smiling, looking relaxed and happy, but there’s something about the image that makes me uneasy. The comments on the post are congratulatory, with people asking for tips and advice on trading. One comment catches my eye:
“Another tip? You guys are killing it! Let me know next time you have a hot lead.”
My heart skips a beat. Insider tips? That’s a serious accusation, even if it’s just a casual comment on a social media post. I quickly jot down the details and decide to keep digging.
I search for any other mentions of Ryan and his friends in connection to insider trading. It’s a long shot, but I find another forum where people discuss stock tips and trading strategies. In one thread, someone mentions a group of college students who seem to have an uncanny knack for predicting stock movements. The poster speculates that they might have some inside information, though they don’t name anyone specifically.
Feeling a mix of dread and determination, I take a break and head to the library’s coffee shop for a much-needed caffeine boost. As I sip my coffee, I think about everything I’ve found. There’s no concrete evidence that Ryan is involved in anything illegal, but there are enough hints and rumors to make me suspicious. Maybe Kelsey was right, maybe he blew up at me to make me feel bad about something real.
I return to my laptop and decide to dig into the financial side of things. I search for any recent news about unusual trading activities linked to our university. After a few dead ends, I come across a local news article from a few months ago. It mentions an investigation into suspicious trading patterns traced back to several university IP addresses, but the details are vague. No names are mentioned, but the article notes that the university is cooperating with authorities to identify the individuals involved.
My heart races as I read the article. This could be related to the rumors Josh mentioned. If Ryan and his friends are using their dorms for trading and somehow got involved in something shady, it might explain the investigation. But I need more proof.
I decide to take a bold step and check the university’s public records. Sometimes, disciplinary actions or investigations are noted in these records, even if the details are confidential. I log into the student portal and navigate to the public records section, hoping to find anything that might shed light on the situation. After sifting through various reports and notices, I find a document listing recent disciplinary actions. My eyes scan the page, looking for any familiar names. Then, I see it: “Investigation ongoing—Financial misconduct—Students from Hamilton Hall.”
The names are redacted, but I know this can’t be a coincidence. Ryan has to be involved in this—the nothing that he so adamantly proclaimed is in fact something.
Feeling a mix of anger and sadness, I close my laptop. Ryan is involved, and if he isn’t involved he’s protecting those who are. This time when I confront him it won’t be as a hopeful girlfriend, it’ll be as someone he should respect, a journalist. I gather everything, intent on putting all the evidence together so he can’t dismiss me again.
As I leave the library I try to formulate a plan in my head of how to go about it. I can’t rush him in a fit of rage, he’ll brush me off again, call me something derisive again like the Nancy Drew comment. I have to be calm but forceful. Most importantly I can’t allow myself to think about how what I really want is for him to kiss me and tell me it’s all been just a big misunderstanding.