Chapter 3

The next morning, I walked into the Sheriff's department. The building felt old and tired, just like everything else in this town. A deputy with a thick mustache and a bored expression took my statement.

He leaned back in his chair, tapping a pen on his desk. He already knew who I was, and who I was accusing. I could see it in his eyes.

"So, you're saying Wesley Fowler and his friends ran your brother's car off the road?"

"Yes. And then they beat him. They broke his leg on purpose."

The deputy sighed, a long, theatrical sound. "Did you see this happen?"

"No, Andrew told me."

"So it's his word against theirs. Look, Ms. Johns, Andrew' s a good player, but he' s got a reputation. A bit of a hothead, you know? Plays aggressively."

"He's not a hothead. He's dedicated. Wesley hit him illegally on the field first."

"Boys will be boys," the deputy said, shrugging. "Rivalry gets heated. Maybe your brother said something, provoked them. Without perfect evidence, a video or an independent witness, this is just a he-said, she-said. And frankly, the Fowlers are a respected family in this community."

He closed his notepad. "I'll file the report, but I wouldn't get your hopes up. We're closing the case due to insufficient evidence."

It was a dismissal. A complete, calculated shutdown. He didn't even pretend to care. He was on the Fowler payroll, and he wasn't even trying to hide it.

Desperate, I went to the high school. I thought maybe the athletic board, the coach, someone would care about one of their star athletes being crippled.

The coach, a man who had clapped Andrew on the back a hundred times, wouldn't meet my eye. The athletic director shuffled papers on his desk.

"Maria, we've heard about the incident," the director said smoothly. "And frankly, we're concerned about Andrew's character."

"His character? Wesley Fowler broke his leg!"

"There are rumors Andrew started the altercation," the coach mumbled, looking at the floor. "We can't have players with anger issues representing our school or being recommended for scholarships. Lester Fowler is a major donor to our program. He funds our equipment, our travel..."

He trailed off, the implication hanging in the air.

"So you're dropping him?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"We're officially revoking our scholarship recommendations," the director confirmed, his tone final. "It's a shame. He had real talent."

I walked out into the empty school hallway. I saw some of Andrew's teammates. They saw me, then quickly looked away, hurrying in the opposite direction. They were scared. I understood why. In this town, the Fowlers were the sun, and everyone else just revolved around them, hoping not to get burned.