Chapter 5: The Guarded Hallway

Harish’s face went from pale to a mottled crimson. He stammered, scrambling to recover from Foley’s devastating slip.

“Dean Holbrook, that was a misunderstanding!” he blurted out, his voice cracking. “Darren was referring to a clerical mistake from an old overseas clinic, years ago! A simple misfiling, nothing to do with Maya!”

The young attorney beside him cleared his throat, but said nothing. He simply packed his briefcase, his movements slow and deliberate.

Dean Holbrook held up a hand, silencing Harish. Her eyes, usually so composed, were now sharp, scrutinizing. “Mr. Patel, Mr. Foley’s statement was quite explicit. ‘Fake cardiac reports,’ ‘state board’ – these are not terms used for clerical mistakes.”

She stood up. “This meeting is paused for two hours. I need to consult with university legal counsel immediately.”

She pressed a button on her desk phone. “Security, please ensure no one enters or leaves this office until I return. And please escort Mr. Patel and his party to the waiting area.”

Two campus security officers appeared almost instantly, taking up positions outside the office door. Harish, sputtering protests, was guided out.

In the hallway, away from the dean’s direct gaze, he spun towards me as we walked past a quiet stairwell. He lowered his voice, speaking rapidly in our native tongue, Punjabi.

“You think you’ve won?” he hissed, his eyes blazing. “You have nothing. If you do not sign the trust surrender forms by midnight tonight, I will ensure you never get custody papers for Leela. Not in this country, not anywhere.”

He moved closer, his breath hot on my face, the scent of his expensive cologne overwhelming. “I know people. Influential people. You will lose everything, starting with your daughter.”

For three years, his threats had chipped away at me, wearing down my resolve. The thought of losing Leela had been my deepest fear, the one he exploited constantly.

But as I stood there, watching the security guards take their posts, something shifted inside me. The fear was still there, a cold knot in my stomach, but it was no longer paralyzing. It was a fuel.

I met his gaze, my own eyes steady. I did not flinch. “You won’t touch her,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, but firm. “Ever.”

His face twisted in surprise. This was not the broken daughter he expected.