Chapter 5 - The Stolen Research and the Trap
Three days passed in relative peace, though the campus dynamic had shifted permanently.
Every time I walked across the quad, students whispered behind cupped hands. Some looked at me with cautious respect; others looked with wary suspicion, wondering if my father’s corporate empire was going to swallow their parents' companies next. But thanks to Olivia and Ethan, my bubble of normalcy remained intact. We spent our evenings in the penthouse suite, ordering ridiculous amounts of gourmet food, arguing over political science theories, and laughing until our ribs ached.
For the first time in my life, I felt like I had a true college experience—minus the dorm food.
Then came Thursday afternoon.
It was the day of our midterm research submissions for Professor Sterling’s advanced macroeconomic seminar—the most competitive, high-stakes class in the entire department. The project represented forty percent of our final grade, and we had spent three grueling weeks compiling data, drafting models, and analyzing market trends.
I walked into the lecture hall fifteen minutes before class, carrying my leather portfolio case. The room was buzzing with students nervously reviewing their printed reports.
I set my case on my desk, popped the brass latches, and reached inside to pull out my final typed manuscript.
My hand touched empty space.
I frowned, freezing instantly. I plunged my hand deeper into the leather case, rifling through the folders.
Nothing.
The forty-page research manuscript, complete with all my original data charts, bibliographic references, and primary source analyses, was completely gone. Only a few blank scratch pads remained at the bottom of the case.
My heart skipped a beat. A cold wave of panic washed over me from head to toe.
How is that possible? I thought frantically. I locked it in my study drawer at the penthouse last night. I carried the case myself the entire way here.
Then, a sudden, horrifying memory flashed through my mind.
Yesterday afternoon, during a break between lectures, I had left my leather portfolio case unattended on the library table for exactly three minutes while I ran to grab a coffee with Olivia. When I came back, the case had been zipped shut, sitting right where I left it. I hadn't thought anything of it.
Madison.
She must have slipped the manuscript right out of the case while my back was turned. But why? To throw it in the trash? To destroy my grade?
Before I could spiral further into panic, Professor Sterling walked into the lecture hall, placing his leather briefcase heavily on the wooden podium. He adjusted his half-moon spectacles and scanned the room with a stern, academic glare.
“Good afternoon, class,” Professor Sterling announced, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. “Today is the submission deadline for your macroeconomic research papers. Please pass your manuscripts forward by row. Remember, late submissions will not be accepted under any circumstances.”
Panic clawed at my throat. If I didn't submit my paper today, I would fail the midterm. Forty percent of my grade—gone. My GPA tanked.
Across the room, near the back row, a figure stood up.
It was Chloe—Madison’s former sycophant, who had apparently decided to salvage her own academic standing by switching allegiance to the winning side. She walked down the aisle carrying a thick, black-bound manuscript.
As she passed my desk, she paused for a fraction of a second, casting a cold, triumphant smirk down at me.
My eyes narrowed. I stood up immediately.
“Professor Sterling!” I called out, my voice cutting sharply through the quiet room.
The professor paused, looking over his spectacles with a frown. “Yes, Miss Bennett? Is there a problem?”
“There is a major problem, Professor,” I said, stepping out into the aisle. I pointed directly at the black-bound manuscript in Chloe’s hands. “That paper Miss Vance is holding is not hers. It’s mine.”
The lecture hall erupted into an immediate, chaotic chorus of gasps and whispers.
Chloe turned pale as chalk, clutching the black binder to her chest like a shield. “That’s a lie! She’s crazy! This is my original research! I spent three weeks working on this!”
“Really, Miss Vance?” I asked, stepping closer to her with a cold, focused fury. “If it’s your original research, tell me what model you used for the projected inflation curves in Chapter Three. Or better yet, explain the anomaly on page fourteen involving the emerging market debt swaps.”
Chloe opened her mouth, stammering incoherently. Her eyes darted frantically around the room, searching for a lifeline. “I—uh—well, that is… I integrated several macro-economic indices… and…”
“She can’t tell you, Professor,” Ethan chimed in, standing up from his desk two rows back. “Because Sophia and I worked on the data models together in the library last Tuesday. I can verify every single chart and citation in that manuscript.”
Professor Sterling’s face darkened with academic wrath. Plagiarism and academic theft were cardinal sins at Asheford. He stepped down from the podium, his expression like thunder.
“Miss Vance,” the professor said, his voice deadly quiet. “Hand me that binder. Immediately.”
With trembling fingers, Chloe handed over the black-bound manuscript. Professor Sterling flipped open the title page. There, neatly printed in the bottom corner—beneath a layer of correction fluid where someone had desperately tried to white-out a name—was my student ID number and signature.
“Good heavens,” Professor Sterling whispered, his face flushing with crimson rage. He looked up at Chloe, then glared across the room at the empty desk where Madison Cole usually sat.
Ah. Madison hadn't just stolen my paper to destroy me. She had handed it off to Chloe—her last remaining asset on campus—so Chloe could submit it as her own, ensuring I would fail while Madison pulled the strings from the shadows. It was a petty, vindictive trap designed to humiliate me academically and prove that my billionaire father couldn't protect me from institutional rules.
“Miss Vance,” Professor Sterling’s voice boomed through the hall. “You are hereby suspended from this course pending a formal academic disciplinary hearing. And as for Miss Cole—who I am told orchestrated this pathetic little conspiracy—the disciplinary board will be expanding their investigation immediately.”
Chloe burst into noisy, hysterical tears, grabbing her backpack and fleeing the lecture hall in total disgrace.
The room was dead silent. Professor Sterling walked over to my desk, gently handing my manuscript back to me with a respectful nod.
“My apologies, Miss Bennett,” the professor said quietly. “Your work is, as always, exemplary. You received a hundred on this paper before it even left your desk.”
May you like
I let out a long, shuddering breath of relief. “Thank you, Professor.”
As I sat back down, sliding the manuscript safely into my portfolio case, I realized something important. Madison wasn't just lashing out blindly anymore. She was getting desperate. And a desperate, cornered person with nothing left to lose was about to make a very big mistake.
