Chapter 72
Raven
I froze for a millisecond, my champagne glass suspended halfway to my lips. A memory flashed—not mine, but the original Raven's—of a woman with a saccharine smile and eyes cold as winter. My processor needed a moment to categorize this new threat.
Instead of responding immediately, I took a deliberately slow sip of my drink, letting the expensive bubbles dance across my tongue.
"Is that so?" I finally said, my voice carrying just enough for nearby classmates to hear.
The mention seemed to unlock a floodgate. Several classmates, emboldened by alcohol and the drama of the evening, began reminiscing about my supposed "history" with Mrs. Campbell.
"Oh my god, remember when she found Raven's diary and read entries out loud to the whole class?" a girl named Heather chimed in, her eyes gleaming with misplaced nostalgia.
"Yeah, and when she used to always point out that Raven was the only kid who walked to school every day?" another added. "What was it she used to say? 'Some of us need the exercise more than others'?"
A guy whose name I couldn't be bothered to recall laughed. "She was always talking about how Cole dropped out early. Said something about 'bad genes running in the family' and looked right at you."
Maya tensed beside me, her fingers nervously tapping against her glass. I could feel her anxiety radiating like heat.
"Fascinating," I said coolly, swirling my champagne. "Truly fascinating."
Inside, my mind was calculating. So the original Raven had been systematically conditioned to accept abuse from an early age. No wonder she'd been such an easy target in high school. First this Campbell woman had established the pattern, and then Maddie and her cronies had simply continued it. The perfect recipe for creating a victim who wouldn't fight back.
I was contemplating various creative methods of revenge when a high-pitched, artificial laugh cut through the room.
"Oh my goodness, you're all here!"
The voice belonged to a woman in her early forties trying desperately to look thirty. She wore a navy blue dress that screamed department store sale rack, accessorized with jewelry that did not.
"Sorry I'm late, everyone! You know how it is at the Education Bureau these days—so much responsibility!" She laughed again, that same tinkling sound that reminded me of breaking glass.
Mrs. Campbell made her rounds, greeting each of the wealthier alumni with practiced warmth, complimenting watches and engagement rings. When she finally turned toward me, her smile froze like concrete setting.
"Oh... Raven? You're... here at the reunion?" Her voice dropped several degrees in temperature.
I smiled slowly, deliberately. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Mrs. Campbell."
"I just didn't expect... Well, these events can be quite expensive and—"
"And poor people need not apply?" I finished for her, my smile never wavering. "How thoughtful of you to be concerned about my finances."
The room quieted slightly.
I leaned forward, champagne glass dangling casually between my fingers. "Actually, I make it a point to visit my former teachers regularly. It's important to remember you all while you still have some semblance of youth left." I cocked my head to one side. "Though I must say, you're looking rather... fatigued. Has anyone ever told you that stress adds a decade? You could easily pass for fifty."
The silence that followed was absolute. Maya clutched my arm.
"Raven," she whispered urgently. "She's the Assistant Director of Regional Education now. She can make your life hell even if she's not your teacher anymore."
Mrs. Campbell's face tightened like shrink-wrap. "Are you attempting humor, Raven? Because it's falling quite flat. Perhaps you should leave the jokes to those with actual wit."
I held her gaze. "Oh, I wasn't joking. Those crow's feet are no laughing matter. Honestly, I'm surprised you still attend these functions. In a few years, the contrast between you and your former students will be... uncomfortable."
She drew herself up, indignation radiating from every pore. "How dare you! My appearance is hardly—"
"Your appearance is the least of your problems," I interrupted, voice suddenly flat. "Though I'm curious how an Assistant Director on a government salary affords a Hermès Birkin bag? That's a thirty thousand dollar accessory you're carrying. And that Van Cleef & Arpels necklace must have set someone back at least fifteen thousand."
Her hand instinctively went to her throat. Several classmates were now openly staring, some surreptitiously pulling out phones.
"My personal finances are none of your business," she sputtered.
"Your Louboutins are this season's collection," I continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Another five thousand, minimum. By my calculation, you're wearing more than my father makes in a year. Curious, isn't it?"
"Her husband doesn't have that kind of money," someone muttered.
"She divorced him three years ago," another voice added. "Said he couldn't 'provide the lifestyle she deserved.'"
Mrs. Campbell's face had gone from pink to crimson. She reached for a glass on the table, her hand trembling with rage. For a moment, I thought she might throw it.
"You insolent little—" She caught herself, glancing around at the room full of witnesses and phones. "You'll regret this. I still have influence at Westside Prep. Don't think there won't be consequences."
I laughed, the sound like ice breaking. "Consequences? Please, by all means, file a report. While you're at it, I'll file one too—about a middle school teacher who systematically bullied a twelve-year-old girl. I've got quite the memory for details." I gestured to her outfit. "I'm also happy to inquire how a public servant on a $78,000 annual salary affords luxury items that cost more than most cars."
Her eyes widened in shock. "How do you know my—"
"Public records, Mrs. Campbell. Fascinating reading. So either you're independently wealthy and hiding it from the IRS, or..." I let my voice drop to a stage whisper, "someone else is bankrolling your expensive taste. Perhaps someone in the Department of Education with a higher position? Someone whose wife might be interested to learn where his money is really going?"
The room had gone deathly quiet. Several former classmates who had been laughing at my expense earlier now stared at Mrs. Campbell with new speculation in their eyes.
"You... you..." She was literally shaking now, her composure completely shattered. "This is slander! You can't just make accusations—"
"I haven't accused you of anything specific," I said innocently. "I'm simply curious about public finances. As a taxpayer."
Watching her unravel was like witnessing a time-lapse of a building demolition. The careful façade crumbled, revealing the ugly truth beneath. I'd seen this same expression countless times in my previous life—the look of corrupt officials and their mistresses when their arrangements were exposed.
Mrs. Campbell snatched her designer bag and stood up so quickly she knocked over her chair. "You ungrateful students! I come here out of the goodness of my heart, and this is how you repay me? Sitting there, watching this... this character assassination?"
She stormed toward the door, pausing only to hurl one final comment over her shoulder. "Don't expect me at any future reunions! This entire event is beneath me!"
The door slammed behind her with such force that the champagne glasses rattled.