The Dean's Call

The burner phone buzzed in her hand, vibrating against her palm like an angry insect. Elena stared at the screen. An unknown number.

It wasn't Julian. It wasn't Constance. They were probably still celebrating her "breakdown" with champagne in the library.

She pressed answer, holding the phone to her ear with a wet, shivering hand.

"This is Elena."

"Mrs. Hawthorne?" The voice was clipped, professional, and entirely devoid of warmth. "This is Dean Rutherford from the admissions office at the Sorbonne."

Elena’s stomach dropped. "Dean Rutherford. Is everything alright?"

"No, Mrs. Hawthorne, it is not. We received notification this morning that the tuition payment for Maya Hawthorne has been declined. Insufficient funds."

"There must be a mistake," Elena said, though she knew there wasn't. She had seen the zeros. She had seen the withdrawal. "The transfer was authorized yesterday."

"We see the authorization attempt," the Dean said, his voice tightening. "And we see the reversal. Along with a flag from your bank indicating potential fraudulent activity on the account."

"Fraudulent?"

"The bank has frozen the assets pending an investigation. And since the deadline for the fall semester deposit is today at 5:00 PM Paris time—which was ten minutes ago—we have no choice but to release Maya’s spot to a student on the waiting list."

"No," Elena gasped. "You can't do that. She's worked her whole life for this. Please, just give me twenty-four hours. I can wire the money from another account."

"I'm afraid it's out of my hands," the Dean said. "We have strict policies. And frankly, Mrs. Hawthorne, your husband was quite clear when he called earlier."

Elena froze. "My husband called you?"

"Yes. About an hour ago. He explained the situation. He said that due to... family restructuring... Maya would not be attending university this year. He said she would be remaining in Charleston for personal reasons."

The boat lurched as it hit a swell, sending a spray of cold saltwater over the gunwale. Elena didn't feel it. She felt a different kind of cold, spreading from her chest to her fingertips.

Julian hadn't just let the payment bounce. He had actively cancelled her future. He had called the school and withdrawn her application, ensuring that even if Elena found the money, the door was already closed.

"He lied to you," Elena whispered.

"Excuse me?"

"He lied. Maya is coming. I will get the money. Please, don't give away her spot."

"Mrs. Hawthorne," the Dean said, his tone shifting from professional to pitying. "Your husband also mentioned that you might call. He said you were... unwell. That you were suffering from a breakdown."

Elena squeezed the phone so hard the plastic creaked.

"He said you might be confused about the family finances. He asked us not to engage with you, for your own safety."

They had covered every base. They had blocked every exit. They had painted her as the villain and the victim in the same breath, ensuring that no one would listen to a word she said.

"I am not confused," Elena said, her voice shaking with rage. "And I am not unwell. I am the Trustee of that account, and I am telling you—"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hawthorne. The decision is final. Good day."

The line went dead.

Elena lowered the phone. The screen was dark, reflecting her own wild, desperate face.

They had taken Maya's money. They had taken her spot. They had taken her escape route.

Julian had set her up to take the call. He knew the check would bounce. He knew the Dean would call. And he wanted Elena to be the one to hear the door slam shut. To be the face of the failure.

She looked at the digital time on the screen.

**4:15 PM.**

School was out. Maya would be waiting at the pick-up line, expecting a confirmation text about her enrollment. Expecting her life to begin.

Instead, she was going to get a text from her father, telling her that Elena had gambled away her tuition. That Elena had ruined everything.

Elena dialed a number. Not the Dean. Not Julian.

She dialed Maya.

It rang once. Twice.

"Hello?" Maya’s voice was guarded, suspicious.

"Maya, listen to me," Elena said. "Don't go home. Don't get in the car with your father."

"Elena? Where are you? Dad said you were at the hospital."

"I'm not at the hospital. I'm safe. But you're not."

"What are you talking about?"

"The tuition," Elena said. "It's gone, Maya. They drained the account. Your dad called the Sorbonne and cancelled your spot."

Silence. Long, heavy silence.

"You're lying," Maya whispered.

"I wish I was," Elena said. "Check your email. The Dean sent the rejection letter five minutes ago."

She could hear Maya moving, the tap of a screen. Then a small, strangled sound.

"Why?" Maya asked, her voice breaking. "Why would he do that?"

"To keep you here," Elena said. "To keep you under control. Just like he kept your mother."

"He said it was you," Maya said, her voice trembling with betrayal. "He texted me. He said you stole it."

"I know what he said. But ask yourself, Maya: Who benefits if you stay? Who needs you in that house to keep the trust fund active?"

Maya didn't answer.

"Go to the library," Elena said. "Wait for me there. Public place. Cameras. Don't let them take you back to the Manor."

"Elena," Maya whispered. "He's here. His car just pulled up."

"Run," Elena said. "Run, Maya."

The line went dead.