Chapter 5: Uncle Nathan
I hadn't seen Uncle Nathan in four years.
Not since my mother's funeral.
Yet I remembered him clearly.
Nathan Brooks had the same dark eyes as Dad, but none of his patience.
Dad entered rooms quietly.
Nathan made sure rooms noticed him.
“He doesn't work for Brooks Meridian anymore,” Dad said.
We were inside the middle SUV now, away from cameras.
Marcus and his mother had been taken to another vehicle while Principal Whitaker kept everyone inside the school.
I stared at the paper.
“Then why is his signature on this?””
“I don't know.””
Richard sat across from us.
“I thought Nathan still controlled Meridian Outreach.””
Dad looked at him.
“He resigned from every company position five years ago.””
“Officially?””
Dad's eyes sharpened.
“What are you suggesting?””
Richard leaned forward.
“That someone never removed his access.””
Dad immediately called someone.
“Lena.””
A woman's voice answered.
“I'm here.””
“Check Nathan Brooks's credentials across every Brooks Meridian system.””
Keyboard sounds came through.
Then silence.
“Elijah…”
“What?””
“His executive credentials are inactive.””
Dad relaxed slightly.
“But?””
“There is a secondary administrator profile created under Meridian Outreach.””
“Whose?””
“No employee name.””
Dad's expression hardened.
“When was it created?””
“Four years and eleven months ago.””
My stomach twisted.
One month after Mom died.
Dad heard it too.
“Disable it.””
“I already tried.””
Dad sat forward.
“What do you mean, tried?””
“The account has higher permissions than mine.””
Richard muttered something under his breath.
Dad's voice became ice.
“Lena, shut down the network.””
“Elijah, that would take—”
“Do it.””
He ended the call.
I stared through the tinted window.
“Why would Uncle Nathan do this?””
Dad didn't answer immediately.
“Your uncle and I disagreed about many things.””
“That isn't an answer.””
“No.””
He looked at me.
“So here's the answer I should have given you years ago.””
Richard shifted uncomfortably.
Dad continued.
“When Brooks Meridian began funding scholarships, Nathan opposed the program.””
“Why?””
“He believed financial aid should be based partly on whether students could become useful connections for the company later.””
I frowned.
“That's disgusting.””
“I agreed.””
“What happened?””
“I removed him from the foundation board.””
“And then?””
“He tried to convince our directors I was wasting company resources.””
“On students?””
“On people he called bad investments.””
That phrase stayed with me.
Bad investments.
Like Marcus.
Like Sofia.
Like me, if nobody knew my last name.
Richard looked at the student list.
“These amounts could be performance payments.””
I felt sick.
“For humiliating kids?””
“Possibly.””
Dad looked at him sharply.
“Don't speculate in front of Nia.””
“I'm sixteen, Dad, not six.””
His face softened for half a second.
“I know.””
My phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
I opened it.
*ASK YOUR FATHER WHY YOUR MOTHER FIRED NATHAN.*
I stopped breathing.
Dad noticed.
“What?””
I showed him.
His face changed.
“Mom fired him?””
Richard looked away.
That told me enough.
“You knew?””
“Nia—”
“You both knew.””
Dad took a slow breath.
“Your mother discovered irregularities in Meridian Outreach.””
“What kind?””
“She suspected scholarship applicants were being profiled beyond normal financial information.””
“How?””
“Family debt. Parents' employment. Neighborhoods. Social connections.””
“Why?””
“She never proved it.””
The answer wasn't enough anymore.
“Did she think Nathan was responsible?””
“Yes.””
“And then she fired him?””
“She removed him from the program.””
A new message appeared.
*HE KEPT THE FILES.*
Then another.
*YOUR FILE TOO.*
Dad took my phone.
He called the number.
Disconnected.
Richard looked toward the driver.
“We should move.””
Dad nodded.
The SUVs pulled away.
I watched Westbridge disappear behind us.
For years, Dad had told me attending school without his name protecting me would teach me independence.
Now I wondered if someone had been watching that independence like an experiment.
“Where are we going?””
“Home.””
“No.””
Dad looked at me.
“I want to see Meridian Outreach.””
“Nia.””
“My name is on that list.””
“Which is exactly why—”
“Mom investigated it. Uncle Nathan ran it. Someone inside your company is threatening students. And now they know where I go to school.””
Dad stared at me for several seconds.
Then his phone rang.
Lena again.
He answered.
“Tell me.””
Her voice came fast.
“The network shutdown triggered an automated deletion.””
Dad went still.
“Of what?””
“Meridian Outreach archives.””
“Stop it.””
“We did.””
“How much was deleted?””
“About thirty percent.””
Richard swore.
“But we recovered one directory before it disappeared.””
“What directory?””
Lena hesitated.
“Project Merit.””
Dad's face became unreadable.
I leaned closer.
“What is Project Merit?””
“I've never heard of it,” Dad said.
Lena continued.
“There are student profiles going back six years. Schools, grades, family income, disciplinary records.””
“Westbridge?””
“Yes.””
My hands curled into fists.
“Am I there?””
Silence.
Then Lena said, “Yes.””
Dad closed his eyes.
“How long?””
“Nia's file was created three years ago.””
The year I entered Westbridge.
Dad looked toward me.
But Lena wasn't finished.
“There’s something else.””
“What?””
“Nia's file isn't categorized with the scholarship students.””
“Then where?””
Another pause.
“Control group.””
Nobody spoke.
I felt as though the floor had vanished beneath me.
“Control group for what?””
Lena inhaled.
“I don't know. But there are two status notes attached to her profile.””
Dad's voice was barely audible.
“Read them.””
“The first says: *Subject unaware of family influence. Continue observation.*”
My skin prickled.
“And the second?””
Lena's voice changed.
“It was added today.””
Dad gripped the phone.
May you like
“What does it say?””
“*Control compromised. Initiate final test.*”
