FIFTY-SEVEN ACOOOOOIG, AT YOUR SERVICE
FIFTY-SEVEN
ACOOOOOIG, AT YOUR SERVICE
“Hi, Uncle Conor!” I chirp, waving over Shay’s shoulder as he and Callan set up the video call on the big screen in Callan’s home.
“What’s going on?” Pushing those new glasses of his up his nose, Conor peers into the camera so he can better scan us. “Are you sick? Hurt? Need money?”
“Can’t we want to call our favorite uncle?”
Conor ignores us to grace the cat that just leaped onto his lap with his attention. “We’re your favorites when you want something.”
“Well, that stings!”
Conor’s lips twitch, but I know he’s sore about the lack of an invitation to the wedding. “Is it true?”
“Hardly!”
“Declan said you were—”
I quickly spin the laptop around. “We’re here with friends, Uncle Conor.”
“Oh. Hi, guys,” Conor greets, sounding totally confused. “What’s going on, Vicky? Are you all right? You look okay. But don’t lie to me. I have ways of making you talk—”
Before he can totally destroy our street cred, I butt in, “We need your help taking down a bully.”
Conor sits forward in his seat, ignoring the hissing cat on his knee. “Tell me more.”
Conor hates bullies, so I know we’re speaking his favorite language.
“Have you heard of a douchenozzle called Derek Dyers?”
“I know team scouts are interested in him—”
“Ew!” I interrupt. “He doesn’t deserve to play in the NHL!”
“He’s the bully?”
Shay’s quick to nod. “He’s an absolute ASSHOLE, Uncle Conor. I just sent you something.”
Our uncle, still frowning, studies his phone and the picture Shay shared with him. “That’s harsh. Can I just say I hate kids? And as a parent, that’s amplified because kids are mini humans and humans goddamn suck.”
“We feel you, Uncle C,” I soothe.
“That’s the tip of the iceberg. He’s a rapist,” Shay seethes.
Conor’s head jerks back so fast I’m surprised he doesn’t give himself whiplash. “What?!”
“Oakwood’s administration covered it up,” Shay inserts, his eyes widening at Conor’s reaction.
“Are you joking?”
“No. We wouldn’t mess around with something like this, Uncle Conor. He’s an abusive bully who bribed his way out of being expelled.”
When Denver brushes my shoulder, I step aside. “This is Denver Parilla, Uncle Conor.”
“Excuse me, sir. I don’t know who you are, but Victoria and Shay seem damn certain you can ruin that asshole’s life—”
“I live to take down bullies.” He cracks his knuckles and a half-smile quirks his lips even as it begins to fade once he studies the picture on his cell again.
Denver grimaces. “I overheard what you said and I just wanted you to know that he’s taking drugs too. He snorts coke before games.”
“I appreciate the intel, Denver.”
“I’m assembling a plan of action. So far, it’s twenty-two parts deep. Any help you can provide to make the plan happen, I’d appreciate.”
Conor’s brows lift. “Twenty-two?”
“To start with, yes. Nothing concrete, you understand. Not yet. I jotted everything down in the heat of the moment. But I have more ideas that I need to percolate.” Her shoulders sag a touch. “I’m still in a reactive frame of mind.
“Anyway, I better leave you to it.”
“I value your candor, Denver.”
“And I thank you for your help. Whatever you can do, it’s appreciated.” She nudges my arm. “We have to go. Zach has practice.”
“No worries. See you later?”
“Sure thing.”
Denver ambles back to Zach's side and, with a wave, they leave us with our uncle. Until Callan pops up like an eager meerkat on the hunt for, well, whatever meerkats hunt.
“Hi there. I’m Callan Korhonen!”
Huh.
How do I know that last name?
In a remarkably similar way to Uncle C, he shoves his glasses up his nose. “Shay and Victoria seemed to imply that your resources were better than BDSec’s. Are they right?”
Conor straightens. “I think we do pretty well on our own over here.”
“Would you be able to help me doxx Dyers?”
“Doxxing? Seems rather middle of the road, wouldn’t you say?”
“Oh. Definitely.” Callan beams at him like the nutty nerd I’ve come to learn he is. In the past twenty minutes, he’s managed to out himself entirely. “That’s phase one.”
“Phase one?” Conor’s eyes narrow with interest. “How many phases are you thinking of?”
“At least eight. But that’s what I’ve come up with since this whole thing came to light.”
“Which was when?”
“A couple days ago,” I say dryly.
“Eight. Interesting. And this is on top of Denver’s twenty-two-phase plan?”
“Sure is!” Callan chirps.
Conor’s expression doesn’t change, but he seems to be reading both Shay’s and mine. Whatever he sees convinces him. Rubbing his chin, he prompts, “Okay, want to tell me what you have planned?”
“Doxxing might be difficult because he lives in a frat house. Accessing his social security number is proving to be a chore.”
“Consider it done.”
“My concern is that the backlash from being doxxed would affect the frat house as a whole and not Dyers. I think we can agree that he deserves worse than that, sir?”
“Do you always sound so chirpy when you’re destroying people’s lives, Mr. Korhonen?”
“Call me Callan, sir. And yes. He hurt my friend.”
“That’s some loyalty.”
“Well, it helps that he’s scum who deserves to be rotting in a jail cell.”
“Interesting. I’m Conor.”
“Pleasure to meet you!”
“Likewise. So, game plan?”
“Him taking drugs. That’s a bigger issue than at first glance.”
“Hell, yes, it is,” Conor mutters. “Especially if he’s talked his way out of being expelled—”
“No, I don’t mean that, sir. The administration has already covered up a rape charge. I think it’s highly likely they’re covering up his drug abuse too.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Zach and a number of other Dukes’ players have informed the coaching staff of Dyers's drug use and nothing ever seems to be done. He’s still playing, not even a sniff of being benched.”
“How… peculiar. I can smell a rotting rat, can’t you?”
“Uh-huh. So, I’m thinking we need to make a big stink about that. I’ve been toying with the idea of something explosive that’ll lead to a deluge of information trickling out.”
“Like?”
“I’m still pondering that, Conor. It’ll involve me hacking into some of the phones of his closest friends.”
“Do you have the skill set?”
“Sure!”
I hide a smile because Conor isn’t wrong—Callan sounds very perky about this whole thing.
“I think we need to be whistleblowers. Revealing a lot of shady shit that goes on at Rho Epsilon Beta. We’ll focus on him, of course, but if we can bring any other assholes down with him, then I’m game for that.”
Conor rocks back in his desk chair. “Shay can help with the Rhos. He must know a lot of their secrets.”
“Hate to disappoint you, Uncle Conor, but the last time Shay went to the frat house was October.”
“Excuse me?!”
“Hey!”
Their moans are simultaneous—Conor’s impatient, Shay’s annoyed as he glowers at me.
“We discussed this, Shay!”
“And I told you and the rest of the uncles that they’re idiots!”
“Prior to this,” Callan inserts, though he appears fascinated with the byplay, “I was looking into donations to the college—”
“Now, why on earth would you be doing that, Callan?” Conor inquires, distracted.
“Well, donations tell a lot, sir,” he says bashfully.
“Conor,” our uncle corrects.
“Yes. Um. Conor.” If I didn’t know Callan was hiding something before, I do now.
“Anyway, his father donates a lot to the school. He’s an alumnus, but this is borderline ridiculous.
He covered a new endowment and a state-of-the-art gym at the Dukes’ training facility all while Dyers has been a student here.
” Callan tugs on his collar. “I also know that Dyers's Jr. and Sr. are Veronians.”
“How do you know that, Callan?” Shay demands.
That’s where I recognize his last name from—Clyde Korhonen, the Veronian, the alleged murderer, is his father.
“I’d be a legacy if I’d accepted the invitation to pledge.”
Shay whistles. “No shit.”
“Eloquently put, Shay,” Conor teases. “Okay, so why did you turn down the invitation, Callan?”
“Because I want nothing to do with my old man. I hate his guts. Plus, if they think I’m anything like him, well, they’re destined for disappointment.” He toys with a fidget spinner on his desk. “You’d be the one who’d know if I was right or not, Victoria.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“I know you pledged.”
“How would you know that?”
He shrugs. “Ways and means.”
Shay presses his hand on top of mine. “No need to freak out. Callan can obviously get around a computer.”
Callan shoves his glasses up his nose again. “That’s right. I saw you walking into the lodge on pledge night.”
“You better tell no one of this,” I hiss at him.
He hitches a shoulder. “Nobody I’d want to tell, Victoria. I’m not proud of my association with my father. But the Veronians are bad news and worse people. If they accepted him into their brotherhood, you want to steer clear of them.”
“Victoria wants to make changes,” Conor inserts, voice soft. “She thinks that the way to a brighter future is on this path.”
Callan snorts. “If that’ll help you sleep at night, then go for it.”
“Callan!” I bite off. “I mean it. I hate that the Veronians are helping scum like Dyers get away with terrible crimes—”
“You’ll have to enact terrible crimes if you’re going to join their little club,” he points out.
“Hacking isn’t an innocent crime.”
He smirks. “Touché. Never said I was an angel.”
“And I never said I was a demon. We’re on the same side if we want to take Dyers down.”
“True. So long as we stay on the same side…” He surprises me by sticking out his hand. “I won’t say anything if you don’t.”
“Perhaps the two of you can even help one another,” Conor chimes in.
“Perhaps,” Callan agrees.
Unease fills me and, seeing it, Shay rubs my shoulder.
“You said it yourself, Callan,” I point out wearily. “I may have to do things you don’t approve of. Will you be on my side then?”
“What’s the end goal? Why would you want to be in that society?”
“Because it’ll help me get a friend in the White House.”
“Victoria,” Conor thunders.
But I ignore him. So does Callan.
“That’s a lofty goal.” Callan rocks his desk chair. “Is he worth your sacrifice?”
“He’s family,” I grind out. “That means he’s worth any sacrifice.”