Chapter 19 – First Domino Falls
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Does true love exist, or is everything transactional? Don't say familial love.
Maybe we are here to just raise the next generation?😅
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Smith stepped into the lecture hall, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft thud. The room was half-full, students still settling into seats with notebooks open and phones in hand. The lecturer stood at the front, reviewing his day's notes, with occasional coughs and grunts cutting through the hum of low conversations. Smith found a seat near the back, sliding in quietly, his bag dropping with a thud that seemed louder than the ongoing conversations.
For a moment, everything reminded him of the normal routine he had before it all started... the scratch of pens on paper, the faint glow of screens reflecting on faces. Then a phone buzzed. Another followed. A third. The sounds multiplied, vibrating across the hall like an uncoordinated symphony. Whispers started, low at first, then growing as heads bent over screens.
The lecturer paused, pen hovering over his book. "Is there something I should know?" he asked, half-joking, but his eyes scanned the room with mild irritation.
A student near the front cleared their throat and read aloud from their phone, voice hesitant but clear: "Effective immediately, the Wesson Foundation scholarships are suspended pending governance review."
The words hung in the air. Silence fell, thick and sudden. Students lit their phones faster now, notifications pinging in waves. Eyes shifted... first to screens, then slowly, inevitably toward Smith. He felt small under a dozen stares at once, some curious, some accusatory, all focused on him like it was his fault. He kept his face neutral, but inside, his pulse quickened. This wasn't random. The timing was perfect, too perfect.
Across the campus, the announcement rippled outward in the same hour. In a dorm room, a first-year student refreshed their inbox again and again, staring at the acceptance letter from weeks ago, now worthless. "What do we do now?" they muttered to a roommate, who shrugged helplessly. In the library, another student froze mid-study, phone in hand, the email confirming their scholarship frozen on the screen. His mood fell to the lowest point, like discovering they had been conned out of their monthly allowance. A parent called from across town, voice confused: "Suspended? But you just got it last month." Voices rose in the quad... small groups forming, frustration building. "My tuition's due next week," one said. "This can't be real." The fallout spread fast, emails shared, posts going up online, the human cost unfolding in real time while decisions were debated elsewhere.
In a quiet corner of the campus café, away from the main paths, the caller sat with a laptop open and a coffee cooling untouched. The screen showed a feed of notifications... emails sent, announcements posted, reactions trickling in. A voicemail played through earbuds: a student's shaky voice, "I don't know what to do now... this was my only way." The caller paused the audio, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Small suffering for a better future, the thought came, cold and measured. The backlash was visible... posts multiplying, frustration evident... but necessary for a better tomorrow. A small hardening followed, not regret—there was no time for regret—but resolve. This would push the right pieces into motion. The laptop closed with a click, the coffee left behind as the caller slipped into the flow of students, remaining unseen.
At Wesson Manor, the same hour brought urgency to the long oak table in the study. Lawyers stood at the edges of the room, folders in hand, reviewing the announcement. Theodore leaned forward, hands clasped. "How contained is this?" he asked, his voice even but slightly tight.
One lawyer cleared his throat. "It's financial for now. But if it expands beyond that, we're exposed. Audits could pull in old contracts, partnerships..."
Elizabeth nodded slowly. "We need to contain it. Give them something to distract them."
Alexandria tapped her pen. "Public fallout's starting. Scholarships suspended... people are talking, especially parents and sponsored students."
Isabel crossed her arms. "This confirms it. Someone is actively trying to attack us. It is well timed, right after the photo."
Hawthorne, standing at the far end of the room, felt the words hit close. His fist clenched and unclenched before he relaxed his expression.
Back on campus... Smith observed the lecture hall and noted that Marcus was missing. He clenched his jaw tightly. He didn't want to point fingers and suspect his friend. He told himself it meant nothing. People skipped lectures all the time. But something about his absence, timed so precisely with everything else, refused to feel accidental.
Maybe Father was right: "Listen, son, there are no friends in business, only those with the biggest profit." he thought.
He knew it was wrong to doubt him without evidence, but if Marcus didn't know about the doubt, everything was fine.