Chapter 4

"I wasn't at the competition," I insisted, my voice rising. "I came here directly from the motel two days ago. I never even registered."

One of the event officials, a stern-faced woman, held up a clear plastic bag.

Inside, my bracelet. The custom charm.

"Then how do you explain this, Ms. Miller? Found on your wrist when our security tried to apprehend you as you fled the testing hall."

My blood ran cold. I looked down at my own wrist.

My bracelet was gone.

When? How?

I always wore it.

"That's... that's not possible," I stammered. "My bracelet... it was on me."

Jess stepped closer. "Sarah, you couldn' t have... could you? You were already going to Stanford!"

Her voice was pitched just right, full of feigned disbelief, planting the seed of doubt for everyone listening.

Mark wrung his hands. "Officers, Sarah wouldn' t do this. She' s the valedictorian." His support felt hollow, rehearsed.

A student nearby snorted. "Valedictorians can be cheats too."

The whispers grew louder. Phones were out, recording.

Public shaming, round two, starting instantly.

"We have security footage from the library entrance," I said, desperation creeping in. "It'll show I arrived two days ago and never left."

The lead officer, Detective Rodriguez, looked at me, his expression unreadable. "We'll look into that, Ms. Miller."

A part-time student librarian, a nervous young man, was with them.

"The footage from that camera, for that specific time frame... it' s corrupted, unfortunately," the librarian said, avoiding my eyes. "A glitch, I guess."

Corrupted. Convenient.

"But I remember seeing someone who looked like her," the librarian added, then pointed at the bracelet in the evidence bag. "She was rushing out of the library yesterday afternoon, around the time of the alleged escape from the Championship. I remember that charm, it caught my eye."

He was misremembering, or lying. Identifying the charm on a bracelet I supposedly wore while fleeing?

Then the event official spoke again. "We have clear security footage from the Championship venue. It shows you, Ms. Miller, competing. Frequently touching your bracelet charm. Writing furiously."

My head spun. "That's impossible!"

"And your fingerprints are on the submitted answer sheets."

"No!"

"DNA from a water bottle left at your testing station matches yours."

"Ace," the hired gun, had already identified me in a photo line-up. Again.

And the Venmo transactions. From an account set up with my personal information.

"Where did you get my ID for that Venmo account?" I demanded, looking straight at Jess and Mark.

Mark flinched.

"We have it on good authority," Detective Rodriguez said, his voice flat, "that the ID and a backup credit card used to set up that account were taken from your bag, Ms. Miller. Right here in this library. While you were asleep."

My bag. I had napped. Mark knew I was here. I' d texted him my location, a brief "laying low, studying" message before turning my phone off. He must have come.

The frame-up wasn' t just happening despite my evasion. It had adapted.

It was tighter than before.