Chương 12
Hearing the title from a stranger still felt unreal.
“Your dissertation files are not currently accused of containing fabricated research.”
“Currently.”
“Yes.”
“You people really love that word.”
“We love words that remain true after meetings.”
Hale made a small sound that might have been approval.
Alvarez opened her folder.
“However, the vendor has contacted the university.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Before or after my defense?”
“Before.”
Hale leaned forward.
“How far before?”
“Seven twelve.”
The same minute I had messaged Hale that I was coming in.
I felt the room contract around the number.
“What did they say?”
“They reported a potential breach involving historical authorization records.”
“Who reported it?”
“I can’t give you that yet.”
“Celia Grant?”
“I cannot give you that yet.”
“Did Julian contact them?”
“I don’t know.”
Alvarez looked at Patel.
“Police are handling the personal conduct issues.”
Then she looked back at me.
“My office is handling institutional exposure.”
“And who is handling the possibility that these are the same issue?”
“That is exactly what we are trying to determine.”
My phone rang.
Not Julian.
A number I did not recognize.
I declined it.
It rang again immediately.
Patel held out a hand.
“Let it go to voicemail.”
It did.
No voicemail appeared.
Then a text came through.
This is Celia Grant.
Please do not contact the vendor through university systems.
I showed the screen to Alvarez.
Her posture changed.
“Do not answer.”
Another message arrived.
I know what your model found.
A third followed before anyone spoke.
Julian does not understand the full problem.
Patel moved closer.
“Screenshot those.”
“I thought screenshots could be disputed.”
“They can.”
She gave me a look.
“Preserving something imperfectly is better than letting it disappear.”
The next message took longer.
Your mother-in-law’s credential should have been disabled years ago.
My mouth went dry.
Hale read it over my shoulder.
Alvarez said, “Do not respond.”
Then another line appeared.
It was not used by Eleanor.
I looked up.
“Then who?”
No one answered because none of them could.
My phone vibrated again.
Someone used her identity after she retired.
And Julian knew.
For several seconds, nobody in Hale’s office moved.
The sentence on my phone seemed too neat for the mess surrounding it.
Julian knew.
Alvarez held out her hand.
“May I see the message?”
I gave her the phone.
She read the entire exchange without scrolling farther than necessary, then passed it to Patel.
“Do you recognize this number?” Patel asked.
“No.”
“Have you ever communicated with Celia Grant by text?”
“Only email and video calls.”
“Do you have her number saved somewhere?”
“I don’t think so.”
Patel copied the number onto her notepad.
“Don’t assume this is her.”
I looked at the screen.
“She knows about the credential.”
“So do several people now.”
“She knows Julian knew.”
“That claim is exactly why we verify the sender.”
Hale had gone very quiet.
Alvarez noticed.
“Professor?”
Hale folded the cracker wrapper into a narrow strip.
“If that credential belongs to Eleanor Mercer, there should be an employment record tied to its creation.”
“Yes,” Alvarez said.
“And if it remained active after retirement, someone approved an exception or failed to terminate it.”
“Possibly.”
“Legacy accounts don’t stay alive for seven years by magic.”
“No.”
Hale looked at me.
“Especially procurement accounts.”
My phone vibrated again.
Patel said, “Don’t touch it.”
The next text appeared on the lock screen.
Ask why Julian joined Institutional Partnerships three months after the 2019 review closed.
I felt a pressure behind my ribs.
Julian had told me his transfer into that office had been competitive.
A promotion.
A reward for being good at navigating people who hated paperwork.
At our anniversary dinner that year, he had joked that his greatest professional skill was smiling while other adults lied.
I had laughed.
The memory made me feel physically stupid.
Patel photographed the message.
Then she took my phone into the hallway to call the number from a university line.
Alvarez turned to Hale.
“Do you have direct knowledge of the 2019 review?”
“Only the portion involving my grant.”
“Were you interviewed by outside counsel?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember the firm?”
“No.”
“Names?”
“One attorney named Collins, maybe.”
“Anything else?”
“They asked about Voss.”
“Only Voss?”
Hale looked toward the door.
“They asked whether Eleanor Mercer had ever contacted me about vendor selection.”
My stomach tightened.
“And had she?”
“Yes.”
The answer came reluctantly.
“She called once.”
“What did she say?”
Hale unfolded the wrapper she had just folded.
“She suggested the project would move faster if I stopped resisting the preferred platform.”
“Suggested how?”
“She said there were easier researchers to fund.”
I stared at her.
“You never told me that.”
“You weren’t here.”
“I mean later.”
“There was no reason.”
“There was every reason once Julian married me.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“I didn’t know Eleanor was his mother until years after you joined the program.”
“But once you did?”
“I considered telling you.”
“And?”
“You were already married.”
That hurt in an unexpected place.
“So you decided ignorance was better.”
“I decided an old procurement dispute was not a fair reason to tell a doctoral student that her mother-in-law might be professionally toxic.”
“Might be?”
Hale flinched.
“That was poorly phrased.”
“It was accurate.”
“No.”
She stood.
“What happened to you last night is not something I knew she was capable of.”
“But you knew she threatened careers.”
“I knew she pressured me during a procurement dispute.”
“And Julian worked for Voss.”
“Yes.”
“And you never mentioned that either.”
“I did not connect them.”
“You’re a systems researcher.”
The bitterness came out before I could stop it.
“You connect everything.”
Hale looked as though I had slapped her.
The silence afterward was ugly.
I wanted to apologize.
I also wanted her to feel bad.
Both things were true.
Alvarez interrupted.
“This conversation is drifting into territory none of us can reconstruct accurately from memory.”
I looked at her.
“Convenient.”
May you like
“No.”
Her voice stayed level.
