Chapter 58 The lobby

Chapter 58 The lobby

The glass doors of the TV station clicked open, and the world turned white.
A wall of flashbulbs went off all at once, the light bouncing off the wet pavement of the sidewalk. I flinched, my hands instinctively coming up to cover my eyes, but Knox’s arm was already there. He pulled me into his side, his massive frame shielding me from the half-dozen reporters who were already lunging toward us with microphones.
"Lila! Is it true the Dean used your father's files to forge the test?" a woman shouted, shoving a digital recorder toward my face.
"Knox, are you still moving in with her? Was the whole relationship a setup for this leak?" another voice yelled from the back of the crowd.
Knox didn't stop walking. He kept his head down, his boots pounding against the concrete as he plowed a path through the media line toward the curb. Mason followed right behind us, his hood pulled low over his face as he ignored the cameras.
"Back off," Knox said, his voice a low growl that made the nearest cameraman stumble backward.
We reached the car, and Knox shoved me into the passenger seat before slamming the door. The sound of reporters thumping their knuckles against the glass was muffled, but the bright white flashes still flickered through the windows like lightning. Knox jumped behind the wheel and Mason scrambled into the back.
The engine roared to life, and Knox slammed the car into gear, forcing the crowd to scatter as he pulled away from the curb and headed back toward the university.
"We can't go to the rink," Mason said from the back seat, his eyes locked on the rearview mirror. "The campus security SUVs are already blocking the main athletic entrance. If we pull in there, they’ll impound the car before we can get to Foley."
"We’re not going to the rink," Knox said, his jaw locked tight as he swerved around a delivery truck. "We’re going to the administration building. The board meeting is still happening, and the Dean is still holding those expulsion papers."
"He saw the broadcast, Knox," I said, my heart hammering against my ribs as I looked at the white gauze on my hands. "He knows it's over. Why would he still try to expel us?"
"Because he has nothing left to lose," Knox hissed, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "If he signs those papers before the state police arrive, he can claim we’re disgruntled students who forged the medical files. He’s going to try to kill our credibility before he goes down."
He swung the car into a side lot behind the library, killing the engine under a row of low-hanging pine trees. We jumped out and ran across the snowy quad toward the stone steps of the administration building.
The front of the building was a mess. Three police cruisers were parked on the sidewalk, their blue lights spinning against the gray stone walls. A group of students was gathered near the fountain, staring at the main doors as two officers carried boxes of files out of the basement entrance.
Knox didn't slow down. He marched up the steps, his boots leaving dark tracks in the slush. Two campus guards tried to block the entrance, but Knox didn't even look at them.
"Official witnesses for the state audit," Knox barked, not breaking his stride.
The guards hesitated, looking at the police cars and then back at Knox’s face. They stepped aside, and we burst through the heavy oak doors into the marble lobby.
The hallway was dead silent. The noise of the sirens outside was cut off by the thick stone walls. We ran toward the Dean’s private office at the end of the corridor. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling out onto the floor.
Knox didn't knock. He kicked the door open, the wood hitting the wall with a deafening bang.
The Dean was sitting at his desk. He wasn't packing a bag, and he wasn't calling a lawyer. He was holding a heavy silver fountain pen, his hand poised over two thick sheets of white paper. He looked up, his face as pale as the stationery.
"You’re too late, Mr. Ryder," the Dean said, his voice a thin, shaky whisper. "The misconduct report is already logged in the digital system. These signatures just make it permanent."
"Drop the pen, Dean," Knox said, walking toward the desk. He didn't lift a fist. He just stood there, his presence filling the small room until the Dean looked like a ghost. "The state police are in your basement right now. They found the master log Richard tried to delete. They know about the November swap."
The Dean’s hand trembled, the tip of the pen scratching a small black line across the top of my expulsion letter. He looked at the door, then back at the papers.
"I did what was necessary for the university," the Dean whispered, his eyes turning wild. "The stadium funding was more important than one player’s roster spot."
"My brother wasn't a roster spot," Knox said, his voice dropping into that quiet, terrifying register. "He was a person. And you're going to tell the police exactly how much Richard paid you to ruin him."
The sound of heavy boots echoed in the hallway behind us. Two state troopers stepped into the room, their badges glinting under the office lights.
"Dean Thomas?" the older officer asked, stepping past me toward the desk. "We have a warrant for your arrest regarding the falsification of state medical records and corporate fraud. Step away from the desk and keep your hands visible."
The Dean slowly lowered the pen. He looked at me, then at Knox, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something else. But no words came out. The officer pulled the Dean's arms behind his back, the metallic click of the handcuffs sounding final in the quiet room.
As they led him past us, Knox reached down and snatched the two expulsion papers off the desk. He didn't read them. He just crumpled them into a ball in his fist and tossed them into the trash can by the door.
He turned to look at me, his blue eyes finally softening as he exhaled a long, heavy breath.
"Is it done now?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Knox looked toward the window, where the morning sun was finally breaking through the gray clouds over the ice rink.
"The war is done, Lila," Knox whispered, reaching out to catch my bandaged hand in his. "But we still have a press conference to finish. And this time, we aren't telling his version of the story"