1. Rowan #2
Erik continues. "Every irregular transfer we've identified traces to one authorizing officer. He had the access to approve the transactions and enough standing inside the university to make them appear ordinary."
My attention fixes on him.
"That officer was Jeremy Bennett." Erik doesn't hesitate. "He held the university's senior financial post until his death eighteen months ago. We're reviewing the full record, including who else knew about the transactions."
The attraction from the stairwell disappears under a rush of anger so complete that I'm moving before I think about the cameras.
Every reporter in the room hears my father's name. One starts typing before Erik finishes. I leave the wall.
"He can't answer you." I speak louder than I mean to. Four reporters turn toward me, followed by every camera.
Caldwell starts toward the microphone. Erik lifts one hand enough to stop him. "You've got a question. I want to hear it."
The invitation irritates me too. He doesn't sound defensive. He sounds interested.
"I have several." Two steps carry me toward the front row. "What's your standard of proof?"
Erik watches me without the amusement from the stairwell. "The records establish the transfers. The investigation will establish responsibility."
"Then those aren't the same thing." I take another step.
"A signature on a transfer proves the signature.
It doesn't prove he designed the scheme, knew the underlying transaction was fraudulent, or saw the same information you're looking at now.
You've accused a dead man before finishing the investigation. "
A reporter turns her phone toward me. I know how this will look on every local site before dinner.
Erik stays behind the podium. "You're a law student."
I step closer. "I'm his daughter."
The room gets quiet enough for me to hear a camera shutter near the back.
Something changes in the way Erik looks at me, though I can't read what it is. He doesn't look away, and he doesn't offer me sympathy I didn't ask for.
"Then you understand why I won't discuss an open investigation beyond the evidence we can support," he says. "If your father is cleared, the record will clear him. I'll say so from this same podium."
The promise should matter more than his refusal to retreat. Instead, both register at once.
"You could have tested the evidence before you said his name." I don't give the cameras another thought. "You announced a suspect the same morning you announced the review. That isn't diligence. That's a headline."
"It's disclosure." Erik keeps his tone even. "Families lost access to scholarship funding today. They deserve to know why."
I stop one row from the podium. "They deserve the truth."
Erik keeps his attention on me. "They'll get it."
"If." I force the word out.
"If." He doesn't take it back.
I hate him a little for that answer. I respect him a little for it too, which is worse.
I stay put. "Whose evidence are you relying on?"
Caldwell turns toward Erik. Harper moves up beside me.
Erik's expression doesn't change. "I won't identify sources in an open investigation."
"You've been dean for three weeks. You didn't audit my father while he was alive." I gesture toward the folder near his elbow. "Somebody gave you a file with Jeremy Bennett's name attached. You put that name in front of cameras before you established who wanted it there."
Erik doesn't move from the podium. "That's a serious thing to allege without a page to back it."
I don't step back. "Naming a dead man is serious too."
Erik holds my stare. "Then I want to see the page."
For half a second, I have nothing.
The answer exposes the exact weakness in my argument. I believe Dad didn't build a laundering operation because I knew him. Erik has records I haven't seen. Unless I find evidence that explains those signatures, I'm asking everyone else to trust my certainty over documents.
Harper catches my elbow before I recover. Caldwell steps forward and announces that the university will post information for affected students by five. He adds something about due process that nobody in this room should be allowed to say without embarrassment.
One reporter keeps her phone aimed at me. I just gave the evening news a grieving daughter to put opposite a composed new dean. It gives them better video instead of clearing Dad.
Harper guides me toward the doors. I let her because another argument won't improve anything.
In the corridor, she releases me. "You just challenged a dean's evidence in front of four cameras, then suggested somebody fed him a manufactured case."
"I asked who built the file." I follow her toward the stairwell.
Harper opens the door. "You accused the file before you've seen it."
"I didn't lose my temper." I start down the stairs slower than I came up.
She stays beside me. "That's what worries me. You chose every word."
"He named Dad as if responsibility was already settled." I take the next flight at Harper's pace this time.
Harper waits until we reach the half-landing. "He said the investigation is open."
"He said that after he gave reporters a dead man's name." I stop and pull out my phone.
Callie has called three times, and Mom has sent eight texts. I open the newest one.
Financial aid won't talk to me. Every answer is pending review. They took Callie's scholarship. Please call me.
The next message is shorter.
I don't know what to do.
Dad used to know. He handled the forms, the bills, and the calls that required somebody to stay patient through forty minutes of hold music.
Mom handled people. Dad handled systems. After he died, I took over the systems.
Harper reads the message over my shoulder. She stops arguing. "Rowan, I loved your dad too. I want him cleared. I also want you to get through law school without explaining this afternoon to character and fitness."
For a moment, I just hold the phone. "I know."
Harper steps in front of me. "Then the next move has to be evidence. Your opinion of the new dean doesn't count."
"I don't have an opinion of Erik." I wait for her to accept that.
Harper doesn't. "Erik, is it?" She grins. "One of your observations is about his shoulders."
Unfortunately, I can still picture them but don't give her the satisfaction of knowing that. "None of my observations are admissible."
She laughs despite herself. I almost do too, then my phone rings with Callie's name on the screen. I answer before the second ring. "Where are you?"
"I'm outside financial aid." She's crying hard enough that I miss the next few words. "Mom keeps apologizing to the woman at the desk. I got her into the parking lot, but she thinks she should've known this could happen."
"She couldn't have known." I move closer to the landing window as students come through the stairwell above us. "What exactly did financial aid say?"
"Nothing moves until the review closes, and Mom asked twice. They won't give us a date." Callie sniffs before she forces the rest out. "Coach Davis isn't answering. I looked at the scholarship agreement, Ro. If they cancel it instead of freezing it, I could lose the whole award."
"They haven't canceled it." I keep my voice level.
Callie needs facts, not whatever I want to do to the administration right now.
"You're not withdrawing, signing anything, or agreeing to a payment plan today.
I want you to take Mom home. You should both ignore unknown numbers because reporters are going to find us after this. "
Callie stops talking. A car horn cuts through the call. "They said Dad's name on TV already."
I look away from Harper. The press conference ended minutes ago, and Callie has already heard Dad's name on television. "I know."
"Did he do it?" Callie speaks more quietly. "Did Dad sign those things?"
I look at Harper. She turns toward the window and gives me the privacy of a few feet.
"I don't know what he signed yet." I won't lie to Callie, even for Dad. "A signature isn't the whole answer. I'm going to find the rest."
When Callie speaks again, I catch every word. "How are you going to do that?"
I look up the stairs through the open fire door. The press room doors are propped open while the camera crews pack up.
Erik stands inside with Caldwell, one folder tucked under his arm. He looks calm enough to make me angry all over again.
From this distance, he is just the man who put my father's name on television. I resent that my body remembers him differently from fifteen minutes ago.
Dad has been dead for eighteen months. Mom is apologizing for a scandal she didn't create. Callie is standing in a financial-aid parking lot wondering whether she can afford to finish her first semester.
I don't know who gave Erik the file or what my father knew before he died. The signature alone isn't enough for either answer. I know where I start.
"I'm going to prove he wrecked the wrong family," I say into the phone.