Chapter 8
I read the name again.
Nathan Carter.
My father's older brother's son.
My cousin.
Nathan was twenty-one now.
He attended college in California.
When I was younger, I thought he was the coolest person alive.
He taught me how to skateboard.
He let me ride in his Jeep.
He called me “Professor Ava” whenever I corrected his math.
And four years earlier, someone had accused him of bullying another student.
The complaint had disappeared.
I looked at Dad.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
His answer came immediately.
Too immediately for me to doubt him.
Mom sat beside him.
“What does it say?”
Dad read silently.
His face tightened.
“A sophomore reported that Nathan and two teammates repeatedly mocked him, damaged his science project, and threatened him after he reported them.”
My chest hurt.
“That sounds…”
I couldn't finish.
It sounded like Madison.
Dad closed the laptop.
“I need to call my brother.”
My uncle Thomas arrived an hour later.
He was Dad's opposite.
Loud.
Funny.
Always overdressed.
He hugged everyone when he entered.
But Dad didn't hug him that night.
He placed the printed complaint on the kitchen table.
Thomas read it.
All the color left his face.
“Where did you get this?”
Dad stared at him.
“You knew.”
Thomas didn't answer.
My stomach dropped.
“You knew?”
I whispered.
He looked at me.
“Ava—”
Dad slammed his palm against the table.
Mom flinched.
I had almost never seen him lose his temper.
“You knew?”
Thomas sat down.
“It wasn't like this.”
“Then explain it.”
“Nathan was seventeen.”
“So is Ava.”
“That isn't what I meant.”
Dad pushed the complaint toward him.
“A student reported harassment. The record was deleted. How?”
Thomas rubbed his face.
“The boy's father and I talked.”
“What does that mean?”
“I offered to pay for the damaged project.”
Dad laughed without humor.
“You think I'm asking about a science project?”
Thomas's voice rose.
“Nathan apologized!”
“To whom?”
“To the family.”
“After they complained?”
“Yes.”
“Why was the complaint deleted?”
Thomas stood.
“I don't know.”
Dad stood too.
“Don't lie in my house.”
Thomas looked toward me and Mom.
“Can we not do this in front of Ava?”
I spoke before Dad could.
“This started because people said rich families protect their kids.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
I continued.
“If our family did the same thing, I should know.”
He slowly sat again.
“I called Whitmore.”
Dad's expression went blank.
Thomas whispered, “I told him Nathan had already been accepted into college and a disciplinary record could jeopardize everything.”
Dad's voice was almost inaudible.
“And?”
“I reminded him how much our family had donated.”
Silence.
Thomas looked ashamed.
“I never threatened him.”
“You didn't need to.”
Dad walked away from the table.
Thomas followed.
“Daniel, I was protecting my son.”
Dad spun around.
“No. You were protecting him from consequences.”
“He was a kid!”
“So was the boy he hurt!”
Thomas recoiled.
Dad's voice broke.
“Do you understand what you've done?”
“It was four years ago.”
“No.”
Dad pointed at the complaint.
“This is now.”
I had never seen my father look so betrayed.
Thomas whispered, “I made a mistake.”
Dad shook his head.
“You made the exact kind of mistake I've been condemning Richard Bell for.”
Thomas's eyes filled.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes!”
His voice cracked.
“I know!”
The room went quiet.
Thomas sat heavily.
“Nathan had been drinking with older kids. He was arrogant. Cruel. I knew he had crossed a line.”
“Then why cover it?”
“Because I panicked.”
He looked at me.
“Parents can be cowards too.”
Dad said nothing.
Thomas continued.
“I thought if the complaint followed him, it would destroy his future.”
Mom spoke softly.
“So you made sure it disappeared.”
Thomas nodded.
“I told myself the apology was enough.”
“Was it?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“I don't know.”
That was the most painful answer.
Dad called the independent investigator himself.
Thomas didn't stop him.
The next morning, Nathan flew home.
He came directly to our house.
He looked older than I remembered.
Not physically.
Something in his eyes.
He hugged me.
I didn't hug back immediately.
He noticed.
“I deserve that.”
We sat in the living room.
Dad asked, “What happened four years ago?”
Nathan didn't pretend not to know.
“His name was Julian.”
That surprised me.
He remembered.
Nathan looked at his hands.
“He was smaller than us. Quiet. Really good at robotics.”
“What did you do?”
“I made jokes.”
Dad's jaw tightened.
Nathan continued.
“Then it got worse.”
He swallowed.
“My friends broke his project. I didn't stop them.”
The complaint said Nathan had damaged it.
“Did you?”
“I kicked part of it after it fell.”
He looked sick saying it.
“And the threat?”
Nathan closed his eyes.
“I told him if he reported us, people would make the rest of school miserable.”
My stomach twisted.
It was almost exactly what Madison had done to me.
“Why?” I asked.
Nathan looked at me.
“I don't have a good answer.”
“Try.”
He nodded.
“I was popular. I played varsity football. My dad had money. Teachers liked me. I got used to rooms changing when I walked into them.”
His eyes filled.
“I thought that meant I was important.”
Dad said quietly, “And Julian wasn't?”
Nathan shook his head.
“I acted like he wasn't.”
He wiped his face.
“I apologized because Dad made me.”
Thomas flinched.
Nathan continued.
“I didn't understand what I was apologizing for.”
“Do you now?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“How?”
Nathan gave a sad laugh.
“College.”
He explained that during freshman year, his roommate had been bullied by teammates.
Nathan watched his roommate become afraid to leave their dorm.
He helped him report it.
“That was when I finally understood.”
“Did you ever contact Julian?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I was ashamed.”
I stared at him.
“That sounds convenient.”
“It was.”
At least he admitted it.
Nathan looked at Dad.
“I'll give a statement.”
Thomas whispered, “Nathan.”
“No, Dad.”
He turned to his father.
“You don't get to protect me from this again.”
Thomas started crying.
Nathan's statement changed the public conversation.
Until then, people accused Dad of going after the Bells because of their rivalry.
Now Dad's own nephew was part of the investigation.
Reporters surrounded him outside the office.
“Mr. Carter, did your family use donations to suppress a bullying complaint?”
Dad answered simply.
“My brother has acknowledged contacting school leadership after the complaint. Investigators should determine the full facts.”
“Will your foundation withdraw funding?”
“No.”
That surprised everyone.
A reporter asked why.
Dad said, “Withdrawing educational funding would punish students for adult misconduct.”
Another reporter shouted, “Will you continue donating?”
“Yes, but differently.”
“What does that mean?”
“Money should not buy access to disciplinary decisions. Our future donations will include written safeguards preventing our family or foundation from contacting administrators about individual discipline cases.”
That night, Dad told me something I never forgot.
“It's easy to demand fairness when fairness benefits you.”
I looked at him.
“The harder test is whether you still want it when your own family is exposed.”
The investigation eventually found that Whitmore had deleted Nathan's complaint after pressure from Uncle Thomas.
Nathan's case was too old for current school discipline.
But he voluntarily wrote an apology to Julian.
He didn't send it immediately.
He asked through an intermediary whether Julian wanted any contact.
Julian said no.
Nathan respected that.
“That hurts,” he admitted.
“It should,” I said.
He nodded.
“I know.”
At school, some students called me a hypocrite because of Nathan.
Others said Dad had exposed his own family, so it proved we weren't hiding anything.
I stopped reading comments.
That helped.
Then, one afternoon, Madison returned to campus for a formal disciplinary hearing.
I saw her sitting alone outside the conference room.
No Sophie.
No Lauren.
No Victoria.
Only Richard.
Madison looked smaller somehow.
She saw me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, “I heard about your cousin.”
I nodded.
She gave a bitter smile.
“Guess your family isn't perfect either.”
“No.”
That seemed to surprise her.
I sat several chairs away.
She asked, “Aren't you going to defend them?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he did something wrong.”
Madison stared at me.
“Must be nice.”
“What?”
“Having a family that admits things.”
I thought about Uncle Thomas.
“It took him four years.”
She looked down.
After a long silence, Madison whispered, “My mom left.”
“What?”
“She moved into a hotel.”
I didn't know what to say.
“My dad says they're separating.”
“I’m sorry.”
She laughed.
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“After everything I did?”
“I can be angry with you and still not want your family destroyed.”
Her eyes filled.
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
She looked at me.
“I hate you because you make everything look easy.”
I almost laughed.
“Easy?”
“You get good grades. Your parents love you. You're rich but act like you don't care. Teachers respect you.”
She wiped her face.
“I had to fight for everything.”
I stared at her.
“You thought tearing my test meant you were fighting for something?”
She looked away.
“No.”
“Framing me?”
“No.”
“Humiliating Ellie?”
Her voice dropped.
“No.”
“Then what were you fighting for?”
Madison couldn't answer.
The conference room door opened.
Richard Bell stepped out.
“Madison.”
She stood.
Before entering, she looked back at me.
“Do you think they'll expel me?”
“I don't know.”
“What do you think they should do?”
I remembered Dad's rule.
Not what helps us.
Not what hurts them.
What would happen if neither family had money?
“I think they should follow the same rules they would use for anyone else.”
Madison's mouth twisted.
“That's such a Daniel Carter answer.”
I almost smiled.
“Yeah.”
She walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
“Ava.”
“What?”
Her voice was barely audible.
“I really did hate that you got a hundred.”
“I know.”
She looked at me.
“But I think I hated the seventy-six more.”
Then she entered the hearing.
Three hours later, the board announced its decision.
Madison Bell was expelled.
But that wasn't the announcement that shocked everyone.
Principal Whitmore had submitted his resignation.
May you like
And Richard Bell had requested permission to speak publicly the next morning.
Nobody knew what he planned to say.
