Chapter 6
By Monday morning, Westbridge Academy had become a circus.
News vans were parked across the street.
Parents crowded the sidewalk.
Three reporters shouted questions the second our SUV arrived.
"Mr. Carter, is Richard Blake under investigation?"
"Emily, were you targeted because of your mother's death?"
"Is Westbridge covering up criminal conduct?"
Dad's security team pushed us through the entrance.
My stomach twisted.
Two days earlier, I had been the invisible scholarship-looking girl everyone mocked.
Now everyone knew my name.
Students stared.
Some looked guilty.
Some curious.
Some afraid.
Madison wasn't there.
Neither was Tyler.
Principal Harris wasn't there either.
An email Sunday night had announced he was taking an "administrative leave."
Nobody believed that wording.
Chairman Whitmore met us in the lobby.
"Emily."
He looked exhausted.
"Your father told me you wanted to attend classes."
"I do."
Dad clearly hated my decision.
But I needed normal.
Even fake normal.
Whitmore nodded.
"If anyone gives you trouble, come directly to me."
I almost smiled.
"That's what Principal Harris said on my first day."
Whitmore's face fell.
"I'm sorry."
I believed him.
That didn't mean I trusted him.
Dad left after making me promise to keep a security officer nearby.
My first class was American history.
Nobody spoke when I entered.
Then Noah raised his hand from the back row.
"I saved you a seat."
The room relaxed by half an inch.
I sat beside him.
"Thanks."
He leaned close.
"My sister says your life is officially more dramatic than every show she watches."
"Glad I'm entertaining."
His smile vanished.
"You okay?"
"No."
"Good."
I stared at him.
He shrugged.
"If you'd said yes, I'd know you were lying."
That almost made me laugh.
Halfway through class, the door opened.
A staff member handed our teacher a note.
The teacher read it.
Then looked at me.
"Emily, Chairman Whitmore would like to see you."
Noah stiffened.
I stood.
My security officer was waiting outside.
But Whitmore wasn't in his office.
Instead, the staff member led me toward the auditorium.
"Why are we going here?"
She looked confused.
"The chairman said to meet him backstage."
Something felt wrong.
I stopped.
"Call him."
"What?"
"Call Chairman Whitmore."
The woman blinked.
"Emily, we're already—"
"Call him."
My security officer immediately stepped forward.
"Do it."
The staff member pulled out her phone.
Whitmore answered.
His voice was loud enough for me to hear.
"I'm in a board meeting. Why?"
The woman's face drained.
She looked at the note.
"Sir, I received a message saying you wanted Emily Carter backstage."
"I sent no such message."
My security officer grabbed my arm.
"Back to the lobby. Now."
Then the fire alarm started.
Students poured into hallways.
Teachers shouted.
Everything became chaos.
My guard spoke into his radio.
"Possible diversion. Moving principal."
Principal.
That was apparently my security code name.
I would have laughed on any other day.
Not this one.
Students flooded toward exits.
Someone slammed into me.
My guard caught my shoulder.
Then another wave separated us.
"Emily!"
I heard him shout.
I was pushed toward the stairwell.
Someone grabbed my wrist.
I turned, expecting my guard.
It was Chloe Mercer.
Her face was pale.
"Come with me."
I jerked away.
"What?"
"Please."
Students rushed around us.
"My dad didn't do what they say."
I stared at her.
"Chloe, this isn't the time."
"You need to hear me."
"No."
She grabbed my arm again.
"He has proof."
I froze.
"Proof of what?"
"That Richard Blake lied."
My security officer appeared through the crowd.
"Miss Carter!"
Chloe looked terrified.
"Meet me in the old theater storage room after school."
Then she disappeared down the stairs.
My guard reached me.
"Who was that?"
"Nobody."
I hated how easily the lie came.
The fire alarm turned out to be false.
Someone had pulled it manually.
Security reviewed hallway footage.
The person wore a hood.
No clear face.
Dad wanted to take me home immediately.
I refused.
"If I leave every time someone scares me, I'll never come back."
He argued.
I won.
Barely.
At 3:10, I told my security officer I needed the restroom.
Then I went out the other door.
It was reckless.
I knew that.
But Chloe had looked genuinely scared.
The old theater storage room was beneath the auditorium.
I opened the door.
"Chloe?"
No answer.
I stepped inside.
Costumes hung from metal racks.
Broken set pieces leaned against walls.
Then the door slammed behind me.
I spun around.
Madison Blake stood there.
My pulse exploded.
"What are you doing here?"
She looked terrible.
No makeup.
Hair tied back.
Dark circles beneath her eyes.
"Chloe told me you'd come."
"You used her?"
"No."
Madison's voice shook.
"She helped me."
I backed toward the door.
"My security is looking for me."
"I know."
"What do you want?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"I need you to stop your father."
I stared at her.
"Excuse me?"
"My dad disappeared last night."
That caught me off guard.
"What?"
"Police came to our house. He was already gone."
I said nothing.
Madison stepped closer.
"They think he attacked that detective."
"Did he?"
"No!"
"How do you know?"
"Because my dad was with me Friday night."
"All night?"
She hesitated.
There.
"No."
Madison's shoulders collapsed.
"He left around eleven."
I remembered Dad's call.
Detective Price had been found shortly after midnight.
Madison saw my expression.
"That doesn't mean anything."
"It means he had time."
She wiped tears angrily.
"I know what I did to you was horrible."
"That's one word."
"I was jealous."
I actually laughed.
"Of what?"
"You."
That answer surprised me.
"You walked into school and didn't care what anyone thought."
"You made sure I had reasons to care."
"I know."
She looked down.
"Everyone at Westbridge wants something. Invitations. Recommendations. Connections. You didn't."
"So you dumped garbage on me?"
"I wanted to embarrass you."
"Congratulations."
Her face twisted.
"I said I'm sorry."
"No. You explained yourself. That's different."
She flinched.
Good.
Then she reached into her backpack.
I immediately moved back.
"It's not a weapon."
She removed a folder.
"My dad kept this in his office safe."
She handed it to me.
Inside were copies of bank records.
Old ones.
Dates from 2000 and 2001.
Payments from Blake Hospitality to a company called Meridian Consulting.
The authorized signature belonged to Jonathan Mercer.
Another page showed payments from Meridian to someone named S. Price.
"Samuel Price?" I asked.
Madison nodded.
My stomach dropped.
Detective Price had been paid by the Blakes.
"There's more."
She pulled out an old photograph.
Richard Blake and Samuel Price stood together outside a hotel.
The date was two months after Victoria's death.
"Why would your dad keep this?"
"I don't know."
"Where is he?"
"If I knew, I wouldn't be here."
Then footsteps sounded outside.
Madison's face changed.
"Did you tell anyone?"
"No."
The doorknob moved.
Locked.
Someone pushed from outside.
Once.
Twice.
Madison whispered, "That's not Chloe."
A shadow appeared beneath the door.
Then smoke started curling through the gap.
I smelled gasoline.
My blood went cold.
"Emily."
Madison backed away.
Flames flashed under the door.
The old curtains nearest the entrance caught immediately.
Madison screamed.
I grabbed her hand.
"Back exit!"
"There isn't one!"
Smoke filled the room with terrifying speed.
I pulled out my phone.
No signal in the basement.
Of course.
Madison coughed.
"We're trapped."
"No."
I looked around.
Old theater.
Storage room.
There had to be another way.
The fire spread across the costumes.
Heat blasted my face.
Then I saw a small square opening high on the back wall.
A ventilation shaft.
"Help me move that table."
We shoved an old workbench beneath it.
I climbed first.
The cover was screwed in place.
I kicked it.
Nothing.
Madison was crying now.
"We're going to die."
"Shut up and push!"
She climbed onto the table and shoved me upward.
I kicked again.
The vent cover broke loose.
Cool air hit my face.
I pulled myself into the shaft.
Then reached down.
"Give me your hand!"
Madison jumped.
I caught her wrist.
For one terrible second, she slipped.
Flames reached the table.
I screamed.
"Madison!"
She grabbed my other arm.
I pulled with everything I had.
She climbed inside.
Seconds later, the table caught fire beneath us.
We crawled through darkness.
Madison sobbed behind me.
Then I heard something ahead.
A metallic clang.
The shaft opened into another room.
I kicked the grate.
It fell.
We dropped into a rehearsal space.
My security officer burst through the door seconds later.
"Emily!"
Behind him came firefighters.
Dad arrived twelve minutes after that.
He ran toward me in the parking lot.
I had never seen him run.
He grabbed me so hard I couldn't breathe.
"I'm okay."
He didn't let go.
"I'm okay, Dad."
When he finally pulled back, he looked at Madison sitting beneath a paramedic's blanket beside me.
His eyes narrowed.
"What happened?"
Madison started crying again.
"Someone locked us in."
A police officer stepped closer.
"Miss Blake, do you know who?"
She shook her head.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
A photograph appeared.
It showed Madison and me crawling into the ventilation shaft.
Someone had taken it from inside the burning room.
May you like
Beneath it were four words.
YOU BOTH SHOULD HAVE DIED.
