Chapter 1: The Seminar

MAYA

"He's staring at you again."

Priya said it the way she said most things, directly and without apology, not looking up from her coffee. We were sitting on the steps of Harlow Hall in the ten minutes before our first Tuesday lecture of sophomore year and the courtyard was full and loud and I already knew without looking who she meant.

"I know," I said.

"He's been doing it since you walked out of Whitmore."

"I know, Priya."

"That is a very long time to stare at someone you supposedly have no interest in."

I picked up my own coffee and looked straight ahead at the courtyard fountain and said nothing because Liam Cross staring at me was not new information and I had a policy about giving new attention to old problems.

The policy was: don't.

I had maintained it successfully for the entire fourteen months we had shared this campus without sharing a single word. Liam Cross was tall and focused and moved through Upton like he had already solved every room before he entered it. He played soccer with an aggression that scouts apparently loved and he carried the Cross name the way I carried the Vance name, like something heavy that had been placed on him without asking.

The difference between us was that I knew about the weight.

I was not sure he did.

The feud was real and documented and old. My father built Vance Holdings across thirty years on client relationships and handshake loyalty. Marcus Cross arrived with his boutique firm and his particular willingness, and one by one those clients walked across the street. Four years of litigation. Two Wall Street Journal mentions. One ruling of inconclusive that satisfied absolutely no one.

What remained was two families who could not occupy the same space without the temperature changing, and two kids who had inherited a war they had not voted for.

"He's still doing it," Priya said.

"Then don't look at him and he'll stop."

"I'm not looking at him. I'm looking at you looking pointedly away from him which is honestly more interesting." She finally glanced up. "Also we have the honors ethics seminar together this semester, you two. Tuesday and Thursday. Eight in the morning. I saw the updated assignment sheet this morning."

I turned and looked at her.

She held up her phone. There it was. The seminar roster. Maya Vance and Liam Cross, same row, same table, twice a week for a full semester.

"Someone made a meme," she said.

"I saw it."

"Three people sent it to me."

"Four sent it to me," I said. "I turned my phone face down."

She looked at me with the expression she used when she was deciding whether I needed to talk or needed to be left alone. She was very good at reading that line. It was one of the reasons I kept her close.

"You're going to be fine," she said.

"I know I'm going to be fine."

"I'm just saying it out loud so it exists somewhere."

"Thank you, Priya."

The seminar room was dark wood and tall windows and morning light cutting the long central table into clean sections. I arrived four minutes early and took the third chair from the door on the left. Close enough to engage. Far enough from the front to look effortless. I arranged my notebook and uncapped my pen and told myself the next ninety minutes were about Professor Aldridge and corporate ethics and absolutely nothing else.

The door opened eight minutes in.

The room shifted. That specific collective awareness of a space adjusting to something unexpected. I felt it before I looked up and I looked up anyway because pretending not to notice was its own kind of tell.

Liam Cross in the doorway, bag over one shoulder, scanning the room with the methodical focus he applied to everything. His eyes moved across the table and reached me and stopped.

Four seconds. Neither of us moved.

Then he crossed the room and sat directly across from me, set his coffee down with a quiet click, and opened his notebook like I did not exist.

I looked back at my page. My pen had left an ink blot where it rested too long on the paper.

The seminar was sharp and fast and I was almost entirely present for it. Almost. Liam wrote small tight notes in his margins like he was arguing with the text privately. He asked one question the whole session, two sentences, completely calm, and every person at the table shifted slightly when he spoke.

I did not shift.

When class ended I was putting my notebook away when something landed on the table in front of me.

A folded piece of paper.

I looked up. Liam was standing, bag on his shoulder, face giving away nothing.

"Read it before you leave," he said quietly. And walked out.

I stared at the paper. The room emptied around me. I picked it up and unfolded it.

It was a printed news alert. Timestamped six forty-seven that morning.

SEC OPENS FORMAL INVESTIGATION INTO VANCE HOLDINGS AND CROSS HOLDINGS. INSIDER TRADING ALLEGATIONS. STOCKS IN FREEFALL.

I read it twice.

The room was empty now. Just me and the long table and the morning light and the alert in my hands.

My phone buzzed in my bag. I already knew who it was before I looked.

My father's name on the screen.

Five missed calls.

I folded the paper carefully, put it in my bag, and walked out into the corridor. Around me the university was moving through its Tuesday morning completely undisturbed, backpacks and coffee and easy laughter, and none of them knew that outside this building two companies were already bleeding.

I called my father back.

He picked up before the first ring finished and what he said in the next four minutes changed the entire shape of my sophomore year.

By the time he hung up I was standing very still in the corridor with one thought sitting at the center of everything.

Liam Cross had known this morning when he walked into that seminar and sat across from me and said nothing.

And somehow that felt like the most important detail of all.