Chapter 3 - The Threat at the Gate
The guard’s name was Higgins, a retired county deputy whose uniform always pulled uncomfortably across his broad stomach. He was breathing heavily, his tie skewed sideways, sweat beading along the rim of his visor.
“Dean Vance,” Higgins said, his voice hushed and hurried as he fell into step beside them. “We’ve got a problem at the main security barrier. Gate Two.”
Vance didn’t slow her pace. She kept her arm linked through Chloe’s, steering the young woman across the crushed limestone path that bordered the football stadium. “If it’s the parents complaining about parking vouchers again, tell them the overflow lot is open behind the maintenance sheds.”
“It’s not parking, ma’am,” Higgins replied, wiping his brow with the back of his wrist. “It’s Mrs. Miller. She’s being detained.”
Chloe’s heart plummeted into her stomach. She stopped dead on the path, nearly pulling Vance off balance. “My mom? Why? She has a ticket! I mailed her the guest pass three weeks ago!”
Higgins looked down at his boots, unwilling to meet Chloe’s frantic stare. “The ticket was flagged at the electronic scanner as counterfeit. Private security—Mr. Sterling’s private contractors, not our campus crew—refused her entry. They’re claiming she’s trespassing on private school grounds.”
“Counterfeit?” Chloe cried, her voice cracking with fury. “I paid the front office fifty dollars in cash for that pass! I saved my tips from the laundry counter!”
Dean Vance turned her sharp, incisive gaze directly onto Higgins. The warmth had vanished from her expression, replaced by a cold, calculating fury that sent a visible ripple of unease through the old guard. “Who ordered the scanner system reconfigured, Higgins?”
“Orders came down through administration communications an hour ago,” Higgins muttered, shifting his weight. “Signed by Board Vice-Chair Marcus Webb. Any tickets not registered to credit card accounts with pre-authorized security clearances were routed to secondary screening. The contractors took her into the east checkpoint tent. They said if she causes a scene, they’ll hand her over to the town police for criminal mischief.”
Chloe pulled away from Vance, her knuckles gripping the velvet mantle around her shoulders. “She’s not going to jail because of me. I don’t care about the walk. I don’t care about the stage.” She spun on her heel, preparing to run toward the gate.
“Chloe, stop,” Vance commanded. It was not a scream, but it carried the weight of an iron door slamming shut.
Chloe halted, her eyes wide, tears finally spilling over her lashes. “You don’t understand! She’s terrified of the police! Five years ago, when the factory laid everyone off, they arrested people just for protesting outside the gates! She will panic!”
“I understand far more than you think,” Vance said, stepping up beside her and taking both of her trembling hands into hers. “If you sprint to that gate looking disheveled, wrapped in a faculty mantle, shouting at private security, you give them precisely the excuse they want. They will declare you emotionally unstable, revoke your diploma under the school’s conduct clause, and escort both you and your mother off the property in the back of a squad car.”
“Then what do we do?” Chloe choked out, her breath ragged. “We can’t just let them lock her in a tent!”
“We don’t,” Vance replied coldly. She turned back to Higgins. “Officer Higgins, you have been with this school for nineteen years. Who signed your pension guarantee?”
Higgins blinked, startled. “You did, Dean Vance. When the old board tried to dissolve the retirement fund.”
“Then you know whose orders hold legal authority on this campus until the stroke of midnight tonight,” Vance said. “You are going to walk over to Gate Two with my master keycard. You will inform Mr. Sterling’s rent-a-cops that any interference with an official guest of the Dean’s Office constitutes a violation of the municipal event permit. You will personally escort Mrs. Miller to the VIP platform and seat her in the front row, directly behind the faculty bench.”
Higgins swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “Mr. Sterling’s guys... they’re armed, ma’am. They’re private corporate security.”
“And you have a county badge and the authority of the municipal charter behind you,” Vance snapped, thrusting a gold-rimmed plastic keycard into his chest. “Do your job, Arthur, or I will ensure you spend your retirement explaining to a judge why you allowed private mercenaries to illegally detain citizens on public educational property.”
Higgins stared at the keycard, then closed his large, calloused fingers around it. A flicker of old pride surfaced beneath his tired eyes. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned and strode briskly toward Gate Two, pulling his radio from his belt.
Vance watched him go for only a second before turning back to Chloe. She adjusted the heavy velvet lapels around the girl’s neck, straightening the brass chain that held it closed.
“Take a deep breath,” Vance whispered. “Fix your posture. Wipe those tears.”
“Dean Vance... why did you mention twenty-five years ago?” Chloe asked, her chest still heaving. “What happened to the other girl?”
Vance’s gaze darkened, her lips pressing into a thin, bloodless line as the faculty brass band began to strike up the first triumphant chords of the processional march.
“Her name was Sarah Lin,” Vance said quietly. “She was the brightest mind this academy had ever seen. She refused to write Richard Sterling’s term papers for him. Two days before graduation, her scholarship vanished, her family was evicted from company housing, and she disappeared from this town forever.”
Vance took Chloe’s arm again, steering her toward the main corridor leading directly behind the stage.
“I was an assistant lecturer then,” Vance continued, her voice devoid of fear. “I stayed silent because I wanted tenure. I got my career. But I buried my soul in the process. Today, Chloe... I am digging it back up.”
As they stepped onto the wooden ramp leading behind the grand stage curtain, a voice hissed from the shadows.
May you like
“Eleanor. What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?”
Standing by the curtain ropes, holding an unlit cigar, was Richard Sterling himself.
