My Ex-Boyfriend Threatened My Sister After a Hit-and-Run — Then I Snapped Her Mobility Cane at a Pep Rally and Forced the Principal to Open the Sealed File
The bell shrieked, signaling the end of the school day. I walked slowly through the emptying science wing, my mind replaying Hobart’s words. *Off-campus pedestrian incident.* It was a lie, a carefully constructed deception, all to protect the stadium grant.
“Maya!”
Julian’s voice, sharper than I expected, cut through my thoughts. He stood blocking my path near the display case of dusty fossil replicas, his jaw tight.
My stomach clenched. I braced myself for another one of his usual dismissals, the cold shoulder he’d given me since we broke up.
“You need to give the key back to Carver,” he said, his voice low, urgent. “Before the board meeting tomorrow night.”
He stepped closer, invading my personal space. His eyes, usually so guarded, held a flicker of desperation.
I crossed my arms, refusing to back down. “And let you sweep everything under the rug? Let your father keep buying off the principal?”
“My father has nothing to do with this,” Julian snapped, but his eyes darted away, a tell.
“Don’t lie to me, Julian,” I shot back, my voice rising slightly. “Elena was hit on campus. By the bleachers. How much did your father pay Carver to change the insurance report? How much did he pay you to run her down?”
His face hardened, a mask of stone. He didn’t deny it, didn’t defend himself against the accusation. He just stared at me, his expression unreadable.
“Some truths destroy everyone who touches them, Maya,” he finally said, his voice barely a whisper.
He turned to walk away, his words hanging in the air like a threat.
“Is that why you broke up with me?” I called out, my voice raw. “To protect yourself? From *truths*?”
He didn’t answer. He just kept walking, his steps purposeful. My gaze dropped to his hand.
He was carrying an old, leather-bound receipt book, tucked under his arm. It was dark green, with “Oakridge High Track Booster Club” embossed in faded gold letters on the cover. I recognized it. Clara Brody, the treasurer, always carried it.
My heart hammered. Why did Julian have Clara’s booster club ledger? Was this how he was funneling money? Corporate payoffs disguised as team donations?
The thought twisted in my gut. He wasn’t just covering up the accident; he was actively involved in manipulating the club’s finances. My ex-boyfriend, the star runner, had become a conduit for his father’s corruption, and a key figure in silencing Elena. My suspicion solidified into a bitter certainty.
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