Ch. 23 The Rabbit Hole of WPA Servers
I hit the enter key and wait for the magic to happen. The AC blows cold air my way, and I have to suppress a shiver.
I take a sip of my coffee as I stretch my legs out and lean back into my chair.
I've been working my way into the WPA servers for a couple days now, and I've finally done it.
The encryption was no joke. I just hope it doesn't come back to bite me.
I am going to find the truth–somehow. If there was an accusation, there must have been an investigation.
An image cues on my screen and I pull the laptop closer. The pixelated image clears and I read through a whole lot of—
Nothing.
It states the discovery of the packet in my locker, and that Celeste confessed. That's it.
There was no further investigation.
I pull up the other documents in the file, and it's basically photographs of my locker—from different angles. Until I arrive on the last file.
I click on it to find a form, a complaint form. A detailed form written in handwriting that looks vaguely familiar.
I rack my brain, trying to remember where I've seen this specific looped 'g'.
I rush to my book wall, and pull out my high school yearbook. I flip through the pages until I land on the one—
Madison's.
'Go fuck yourself, asshole.' Written in Madison's hand, with the same looped 'g' as in the complaint form.
A chill runs through my body. She did mention seeing Celeste, but she didn't mention anything else.
Here, in front of me, is a detailed complaint about how the complainant suspected me of cheating.
How they saw me reading from notes that seemed too well prepared.
How they saw me putting a specific set of papers in my locker when I thought no one was looking.
My blood runs cold.
The list looks legitimate. Dates coinciding with basketball games and practices—times when the corridors would be empty.
If I didn't know it was all untrue, I might believe it too. No wonder Hartley was so convinced of my crime.
I read through the complaint again. It's anonymous. No one would know who filed it unless they spent countless hours with them in class, copying notes from each other.
It was Madison. She filed the complaint. But why? And how would Madison even know about any cheating in the first place?
I look for alumni records, but I don't find too many. I search for Madison's information.
The last records state she went to Medical School outstate. No further details.
I pull out my phone. I stare at the contact details for a long few minutes.
My hands tremble. I know one thing for sure—Celeste is innocent. She has always been innocent.
Bile rises in my throat as I struggle with the urge to throw up. I blamed Celeste for years.
Not days, not months—years!
Because I don't trust you. Her words echo in my ears.
She never felt safe enough to come forward with the truth. That's on me. This was all on me.
I drop my phone and rush to the bathroom. All my dinner exits through my mouth, the bile burning my throat.
I push myself up eventually and rinse my mouth. My reflection stares back at me, eyes hollow and chest heaving.
How will I ever begin making amends to Celeste?
I walk back to my study, my phone still on the floor where I dropped it.
I pull up Kyle's contact. The phone rings twice before he answers.
"Boss. You do realize it's way past midnight, right? I'm charging you overtime from now on."
"Kyle, redraft Celeste's contract. Remove the 'walk-away' clause in its entirety."
"Boss...?"
I hang up before he can ask anything else.
There has to be more to this story than just Madison's complaint. She had too much information.
We need more definitive proof to exonerate Celeste.
I pull up Christopher's contact and hit 'dial'.
—-----------------
It's the incessant buzzing of my phone that finally pulls me from my sleep.
I stare blearily at the clock on my bedside. 4:15 am.
The phone stops ringing. I pull my phone to check the Caller ID when it starts buzzing again.
Marcus Holden.
I answer wearily. "What the hell, Marcus? It's like 4 in the morning."
"Were you dead? I've been calling for fifteen minutes! It wasn't Celeste."
His words are like a slash of cold water on my face and I stare at the phone as I try to process what he said.
"What?"
"It wasn't Celeste. She never framed me—simply took the fall." His words are frantic, like he can't get them out fast enough.
Cold settles in my gut. I sit up in bed, awake and alert.
"Tell me everything, from the top." And he does.
He shares his suspicions about Madison, about the lack of a proper investigation. How he recognized her handwriting, but had no other proof.
My heart pounds in my chest. I don't need proof to accept what Marcus told me. Over the years, Celeste's actions made no sense.
I just allowed my hurt and pride to keep me away from my sister.
Marcus is still speaking in the background, and I force my attention back to him.
"We have to find out the truth. Can you find Madison?"
Resolve solidifies in my gut.
We'll find the truth—we have to.
I have a sister to beg forgiveness from and make amends to.
—-----------------
"We can't market this product as a replacement for actors and stunt doubles. It will cause a mutiny. This is a director's tool, a producer's tool to make filming safer—better.
"For the love of all that is holy, can you please listen!"
My voice rises, and almost everyone frowns at me.
Exhaustion like I've never known settles into me.
It feels like I haven't seen Marcus in days. Even Kyle doesn't drop by much anymore.
Nolan is an ass who can't tell his front from his back end, and I don't know how many smiles I have left in me anymore.
I miss Ella. And Legend.
I miss having something to look forward to.
The feelings I shoved into a box are surfacing, and I don't have a big enough box anymore.
In the dead of night, I sometimes toy with the idea of just quitting.
When I'm walking home each day, I miss my mother's barbed tongue as much as showing up on set, pretending to be someone else.
I tug on the sweater I'm wearing, but I feel colder still. Maybe I should wear an extra cardigan tomorrow.
"I have been marketing professionally for over a decade—while you've been going around biting people! You think you have a right to teach me!" Nolan screams in my face, spittle flying everywhere.
I wipe my face and just smile at him. "Yes. In this instance, on this topic, yes."
He lunges towards me, only to be restrained by his team members.
I just stand there, mind too numb, and body too exhausted.
That's when Kyle appears—this man's omniscience is uncanny.
"What the hell is going on here?"
Nolan pulls himself free and straightens his tie.
He sends me a cold look and walks away. My legs refuse to move.
Kyle closes in and stares into my face, eyes full of concern.
"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
I smile wanly. "If drowning in spittle counts, then yes."
He doesn't return my smile, but the lines in his face deepen.
"Why don't you sit down. I'll get you something warm."
"I'd rather you didn't." The words leave my mouth faster than I can comprehend them, but I don't take them back.
He looks genuinely hurt, and I almost feel a twinge of something.
He straightens before I can figure it out, stares after Nolan—face a mask of indifference—turns around and leaves.
I settle in my seat slowly, like any sudden movement might break something.
This time, it takes almost an entire minute to remember what I'm fighting for.
—----------------------
I glance at my phone for the twentieth time in the last one hour alone, willing it to light up.
Christopher was supposed to get back to me with details on Madison's whereabouts. How hard can it really be for a prosecutor to track her down?
I'm debating whether to call him again and risk offending him when the door to my office bursts open with such force, I'm sure it's going to rip from its hinges.
Kyle barges in, a storm brewing in his silver eyes, which look dark as night.
"If you don't curb Nolan, I swear to God, I'll end up doing something we both regret!"
I'm instantly alarmed. I've never seen Kyle quite so mad.
"Slow down, and tell me what happened." I try to keep my voice calm, even as I try to stabilize my pulse.
Kyle huffs a breath, face twisted with distaste. "Nolan is bullying Celeste, again. He won't listen to her. Dismisses her ideas outright. Thinks he knows everything about our new product and being a general a-hole."
He looks straight in my eye as he issues his challenge. "Either you do something, or I certainly will."
He breathes heavily as he waits for my response. Does he really think I won't intervene?
My jaw tightens as I realize one talk wasn't enough. "Is the contract amended?"
Kyle's jaw locks, and his tone is clipped when he responds, "You called me at 4 am in the morning. I have been mobilizing the staff, but you have to give them a few working hours—unless you want me to just cut the relevant paras and hope for the best! Jeez!"
I press my lips together to swallow my retort. The already dark pit of shame deepens.
I want to make sure the contract reflects my sincerity and Kyle knows it.
He catches my expression and clips, "Fine, I know it's for Celeste and I've been after the Legal team since they walked in about half an hour back. They promised it'll be done in the next hour."
I nod. "Thank you. Send them both up, please."
He looks even angrier as he storms out, slamming the door behind him.
I lean back in my chair, eyes closed, fingers tight in a fist as I suppress the urge to smash something.
I take a deep breath. It won't do to punch Nolan before he gets a chance to speak—although I'm not sure I'll have the necessary control.