53

Chapter Fifty Three

Daniella’s Pov

Before I can answer Dean Holloway’s heavy question about private lines, Freya snaps her laptop open. She turns it around, sliding a printed packet across the long mahogany table toward the committee chair.

"You don't need to push her for a confession on that part," Freya says, her voice sweet and sharp like broken glass. "Look at Exhibit D. Text logs between Miss Vance and my cousin Gareth right before the supposed rescue night at the penthouse. She wasn't fleeing a crisis. She was coordinating a drop-in."

My breath catches. I stare across the table at the white paper sliding past my elbow.

I reach out, pulling the printed sheet closer. Blue and grey bubbles. My name at the top. Gareth’s number flashing back.

“Be ready at 8. Side gate open.” “Is he going to be there?” “Just play your part and secure the room access.”

Anger burns hot and fast behind my eyes. They cropped it. They deleted my angry replies telling Gareth I thought I was meeting a scholarship donor board member, cutting out the part where I walked right into a setup.

"That's fake context," I say, my voice shaking with raw fury, holding my chin high. "Gareth told me there was a donor briefing at a private downtown office. I didn't know it was Kent’s private space, and I certainly didn't set up any trap."

Dean Holloway slips reading glasses down her nose, scanning the paper. "Miss Vance, these timestamps place your outgoing text right before Dr. Vance arrived. How do you explain the coordination?"

"I thought Gareth was helping me secure a housing grant review," I say clearly, forcing my hands to stay flat on the wood instead of clenching into fists.

Kent sits beside me like a mountain of dark stone. He doesn't move a muscle. He doesn't jump in to yell at Freya. He leaves the air open for me, proving to every single person in this room that I am defending my own name.

Freya’s lawyer leans forward, tapping a manicured nail on the table. "Convenient story. Without proof that Gareth acted as a broker or received outside incentive to steer you into that building, these texts stand as proof of premeditated boundary-breaching."

Premeditated. They want to paint me as a plotter.

My heart hammers hard against my ribs. I remember the odd bank transfer alert I found buried in my student financial portal cache weeks ago—the weird wire deposit hitting Gareth’s local student cooperative account right after the penthouse night from an anonymous shell clearinghouse linked to third-party academic advisory fixers.

I reach into my bag, pulling out my tablet. My fingers move fast across the screen, pulling up the downloaded P*F ledger receipt I saved the night Gareth tried to blackmail me.

I slide the tablet across the table right next to Freya’s printed pages.

"Look at the ledger stamp, Dean Holloway," I say, leaning forward so my voice carries clear across the room. "Gareth didn't text me out of kindness. Look at the incoming wire deposit timestamp to his student cooperative account. Five thousand dollars, cleared forty minutes after the penthouse door locked, routed from a advisory compliance clearing shell."

Dean Holloway picks up the tablet, turning it toward the school finance officer sitting beside her. The finance officer adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses, tapping his keyboard.

Freya’s smile cracks. Her lawyer grabs her wrist, whispering a sharp warning.

"Where did you source this audit export?" Dean Holloway asks, her sharp eyes lifting to lock onto mine.

"From the public student portal backend log when Gareth tried to lock me out of my grade registry," I say flatly. "Follow the wire path. Gareth was paid to deliver a scandal, not a study group."

The heavy air in Room 402 shifts. The snap of judgment turns into the cold smell of an official investigation turning inward. Freya slams her hand flat on the wood, glaring at me like she wants to burn holes through my coat.

"This is a distraction!" Freya snaps, her voice losing its cool polish. "She still compromised faculty neutrality!"

Dean Holloway holds up one hand, silencing the table. She takes off her glasses, folding them slowly.

"We are recessing the core disciplinary finding pending a full forensic trace of the wire ledger and Gareth Vance's student testimony subpoena," Dean Holloway announces, her voice echoing off the oak panels. "Interim ruling: Miss Daniella Vance remains enrolled in good standing with full scholarship access while the compliance audit runs."

Relief hits me so hard my shoulders drop two inches.

"However," Dean Holloway adds, turning her gaze sideways toward Kent, "Dr. Kent Vance remains formally recused from all grading authority, administrative review, and instructional presence over Miss Vance's department until the audit clears."

Kent gives a slow, single nod. "Acceptable."

Freya stands up so fast her chair screeches against the floorboards. Her lawyer packs the papers into a leather portfolio with angry, sharp snaps.

"This isn't over," Freya spits out, glaring at Kent and me before storming out the heavy oak doors, her heels clicking a sharp tattoo down the hallway.

I sit frozen for a heartbeat longer, staring at the empty chair across the table.

Kent reaches down, sliding his warm hand over my knuckles resting on the edge of the wood. His thumb brushes my skin, slow and grounding.

"You did that," Kent murmurs low beside my ear, his voice thick with a dark, proud fire.

I turn my head, looking into his deep dark eyes. The committee room is clearing out around us, old paper rustling, chairs sliding back. We didn't win the whole war today, and we are still split apart across department files, forced to play by institutional rules while the digital ghost of Gareth’s setup gets hunted down.

I pull my hand away just enough to slip my fingers through his, gripping his palm tight.

"They can separate our rosters," I whisper back, meeting his gaze with a fierce, steady smile. "They can't touch us."