Chapter 14 The Lion's Den
The auditorium for "Introduction to Political Economy" was less of a classroom and more of a cathedral to capitalism. Rows of polished mahogany desks rose in a steep semi-circle toward a vaulted ceiling, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the hushed, rapid-fire clicking of high-end laptop keys.
I slipped into a seat in the very last row, trying to make myself as small as possible. I had tucked the frayed hem of my sweater under my arms, but I still felt like a blemish on a perfect white canvas. My head was still swimming from the interaction on the quad, the coldness of Nathaniel’s gaze still stinging like an open wound.
Then, they walked in.
It was like watching a royal procession. The group from the fountain moved as a single, coordinated unit. The blonde twins—whose names I still didn't know—were flanked by the three guys and the girl with the porcelain skin. They didn't even have to look for seats; a group of freshmen in the third row practically scrambled over each other to vacate a prime block of desks for them.
They sat down with practiced elegance, and for a terrifying second, the one with the jagged scar turned around. He scanned the room until his eyes landed on me. He nudged the blonde twin on his right, and six heads turned in unison to stare at the back row. One of the twins didn't just sneer; she laughed, a silent, mocking vibration that made my skin crawl.
"Is this seat taken?"
I jumped, nearly knocking my thrifted notebook off the desk. A girl was standing in the aisle, looking at me with a soft, sympathetic smile. She had mahogany hair pulled back into a neat bun and wore a simple, olive-green blazer that looked expensive but lacked the aggressive flashiness of the others.
"No," I managed to say. "Go ahead."
She slid into the seat next to me, setting down a slim tablet. "I’m Scarlett. Scarlett Tate."
"Mila Stone," I replied, waiting for the inevitable flicker of recognition, the "Oh, the hero girl" comment.
Instead, Scarlett just sighed, looking down at the group in the third row. "They’re a lot, aren't they? The Alverstone elite. If you don't have a wing of the library named after your grandfather, you're basically invisible to them. Or, in your case, a target."
I blinked, surprised by her bluntness. "Is it that obvious?"
"The way they’re staring? Yeah. They treat this place like their personal kingdom," Scarlett whispered, leaning in closer. "Don't let them get to you. Most of us are just here to actually learn, not to audition for a reality show about billionaires. It’s a pressure cooker here, Mila. Everyone is fighting for the same top-tier internships. It’s exhausting."
For the first time since I’d stepped onto this campus, my shoulders dropped an inch. Scarlett seemed... normal. She understood the weight of the air in this room. "I’m just trying to make it to lunch without a panic attack," I admitted.
Scarlett laughed softly. "I’ll settle for making it through Professor Vance. He makes the Salvatores look like kittens."
As if on cue, the heavy oak doors at the front of the hall slammed open.
Professor Vance didn't walk; he marched. He was a tall, skeletal man with a shock of white hair and eyes that looked like they could Bore through granite. He didn't use a microphone. He didn't need one.
"In this room," Vance began, his voice a sharp, authoritative crack that silenced the entire hall instantly, "you are not your parents' bank accounts. You are not your family’s legacy. You are either an asset to the global economy, or you are a liability."
He began to pace the front of the room, his eyes scanning the rows like a hawk looking for a weak rabbit.
"Mr. Salvatore," Vance barked suddenly.
In the row below the mean group, Nate sat up straighter. He didn't look intimidated; he looked bored, as if this were a conversation he had already mastered over Sunday brunch. Theodore and Gavin were on either side of him, as always—Theodore focused, Gavin watchful.
"Define the 'Sunk Cost Fallacy' as it pertains to human life," Vance commanded.
Nate didn't hesitate. His voice was smooth, confident, and entirely devoid of emotion. "It’s the phenomenon where a person persists in a failing endeavor because of the investment already made—time, money, or emotion—regardless of the current cost. In human terms? It’s staying in a burning building because you spent ten years decorating it."
"And if that building is a person, Mr. Salvatore?" Vance stepped closer to him. "If the cost of saving them outweighs their future utility?"
Nate’s eyes flicked briefly—so fast I almost missed it—toward the back of the room where I sat. "Then the rational actor cuts their losses," he said, his voice cold and clinical. "Sentimental value has no place in a stable market. You let the building burn."
A chill that had nothing to do with the high-powered air conditioning settled over me. Nate wasn't just answering a textbook question; he was stating his philosophy. He was telling me, in front of everyone, exactly how he viewed the debt he owed me.
The rest of the lecture became a blur of high-level theory and brutal logic. Every time I tried to take a note, my hand shook. The group in the third row spent the half-hour whispering and glancing back at me, their eyes sharp and predatory, like wolves circling a stray.
"He’s intense," Scarlett whispered to me as we began to pack up our bags. "But don't mind Nate. He thinks he’s the smartest person in every room. Usually, he’s right, which only makes him more insufferable."
"He’s something," I muttered, sliding my notebook into my bag and trying to ignore the way my heart was still racing.
"Listen," Scarlett said, touching my arm lightly. Her touch was brief and supportive. "A group of us are grabbing coffee at the library cafe after the next block. You should come. It’s a quiet spot, and it’s better than sitting alone and letting those vultures think they’ve won the first round."
I looked at her—really looked at her. Her expression was open, kind, and genuinely concerned. After a morning of being treated like a ghost or a target, Scarlett’s friendship felt like a life raft in a storm.
"I’d like that," I said, a small, tentative smile finally reaching my face. "Thank you, Scarlett. Seriously."
"Of course," she said, her smile widening. "Us outsiders have to stick together, right?"
As I walked out of the hall, I felt a strange, flickering spark of hope. For the first time, the heavy weight of the Alverstone gates felt a little lighter. I finally had someone on my side, a friend who saw me as a person rather than a PR stunt or a charity case. I followed the flow of students out into the sunlight, feeling like I might actually survive the day after all.