Chapter 49 The Front Gates

Chapter 49 The Front Gates
"Get your hands off my locker, Miller," Knox said, his voice cutting flat through the noise of the crowded hallway.
Miller didn't move. He kept his shoulder pressed against the rusted green metal of locker 114, his hockey jersey still damp from morning practice. Three other varsity players stood right behind him, blocking the narrow corridor that led to the ice rink entrance.
"The dean just called Coach Foley into the administration building," Miller said, looking past Knox’s shoulder straight at my bandaged hands. "The whole team is getting dragged into an emergency compliance hearing at noon because of you two. You think you can just drop a bomb on the athletic board and walk away?"
"I think you need to take a step back before I put you through that locker," Knox said. He didn't drop the heavy canvas gear bag off his shoulder. He just shifted his weight, his boots squeaking against the wet linoleum floor.
The hallway went completely quiet. Two freshmen players who were walking toward the water fountain stopped in their tracks, turning around to head back to the showers.
"Foley said Ryder's name is clear on the master roster," Miller muttered, though he took a half-step back, his eyes darting to Knox’s clenched right fist. "But the student blog is already running the police report from the Shaw house. They're saying you two broke into the basement to steal the registry data."
"We recovered my father's property," I said, stepping up next to Knox. I held my wrapped hands flat against my sides so the white gauze didn't show past my sleeves. "Richard Shaw didn't write a single line of that code. The state registry authenticated the files at midnight."
"Nobody cares about the code, Lila," a sharp voice called out from the end of the hall.
Sienna was leaning against the water fountain. She wore her bright red varsity jacket, her long blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her face was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes, but her voice was as cold as the ice under our boots. She held her phone in her right hand, the screen flashing with a long list of missed calls.
"The university legal team just froze my father's bank accounts," Sienna said, walking down the center of the hallway as the other players moved aside to let her through. She stopped three feet in front of me, her eyes locking onto my face. "They're canceling the stadium expansion contract by lunch. You didn't just ruin his career, Lila. You took the funding for the entire winter season."
"Your father tried to burn down his own cellar with us inside it, Sienna," I said flatly.
"And who is going to prove that?" Sienna asked, her mouth twisting into a hard, small smile. "The local police haven't even processed the report yet. But the dean already has the security footage of you taking my laptop from the dorm rooms last week. That’s a felony theft charge, Lila. It doesn't matter what my father did in his basement—you’re getting expelled before the sun goes down."
Knox stepped directly between us, his massive frame completely blocking Sienna from my sight. "The laptop was returned to the housing office four hours ago, Sienna. The chain of custody is logged on the campus security server. Try another angle."
"I don't need another angle," Sienna hissed, looking up at him. "The athletic board is voting on an immediate team suspension in twenty minutes. If the team gets benched, the scouts leave town without looking at a single player. Ask Miller how he feels about his senior year getting flushed down the toilet because you wanted to play hero."
Miller looked at Knox, his jaw tight. "Is she telling the truth, Knox? Are we sitting out the Friday game?"
"Nobody is sitting out," Knox said. He finally dropped his gear bag onto the floor with a heavy, rubbery thud. "Foley is in the office right now with the corporate rep from the league's main sponsor. The Shaw contract is dead, but the new funding line is already on the dean's desk."
Sienna's smile vanished. She looked down at her phone, her fingers tapping the glass quickly. "The board won't sign a new contract without a full audit. That takes weeks."
"It takes five minutes when the league commissioner signs the emergency waiver," Knox said, taking a step toward her until she had to tilt her head back to look at him. "Your dad isn't the only person with connections in this city, Sienna. Go tell your family lawyers to start drafting his bail papers. You're done here."
A loud, mechanical buzzer cut through the hallway, signaling the start of the ten-o'clock lecture block. The heavy double doors at the end of the corridor swung open, and Coach Foley walked out, his clipboard clutched tightly under his arm. His face looked completely gray, and his tie was pulled loose at the collar.
"Knox. Bennett," Foley called out, his voice echoing off the metal lockers. "In my office. Right now."
Miller stepped aside, his eyes moving from Knox to me as we walked past. Sienna stayed by the water fountain, her knuckles white around her phone as she watched us leave the corridor.
Foley's office smelled like stale coffee and damp leather. He didn't sit down behind his desk. He walked straight to the window, pulling the blinds open to look out at the empty practice rink below.
"The dean isn't signing the waiver," Foley said without turning around.
"Why not?" Knox asked, slamming the office door shut behind us.
"Because Richard's lawyers just filed an injunction," Foley said, turning around to face us. He tossed a thick manila folder onto the desk. "They're claiming the digital signature we uploaded at midnight was obtained through corporate espionage. They're demanding a full freeze on Ryder's eligibility until a state judge reviews the source computer."
My stomach turned over. "The source computer was destroyed in the fire, Coach. Richard dropped the lighter on purpose."
"I know that, Lila," Foley said softly. He looked at my bandaged hands, then back up at Knox. "But the judge doesn't know that yet. Until the hearing happens next month, Ryder is officially benched, and the athletic board is locking the rink doors."
Knox walked up to the desk, his hands flat against the wood as he leaned in. "We have the physical notebook. The handwritten formulas are right here."
"A notebook isn't a digital timestamp, Knox," Foley said, his voice dropping into a tired whisper. "The board meets in ten minutes to finalize the suspension. If you two don't have a way to prove Richard set that fire on purpose before the gavel drops, this season is officially over."