Chapter 4
I forgot about Carter.
I forgot about the video.
For one terrible moment, all I could hear was the name of the woman I missed every day.
My mother.
Isabella Moretti.
Except before she married my father, she had been Isabella Grant.
I knew pieces of her childhood.
She grew up in New York.
Her parents had money, then lost most of it.
She loved piano.
She hated thunderstorms.
She once dyed her hair blue and blamed it on a cousin.
But Westbridge?
Never.
My father had never said a word.
“What incident?”
“Emma,” he said quietly.
“What incident?”
Dr. Shaw answered.
“She was bullied.”
The word punched the air from my lungs.
My father’s jaw tightened.
I could hear it in the way his breath came through his nose.
“By who?”
Dr. Shaw hesitated.
“Several students.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It was complicated.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Apparently everything at this school is complicated.”
My father said, “We’re leaving.”
“No.”
His voice hardened.
“Emma.”
“I said no.”
The cafeteria had become painfully quiet again.
I hated having an audience.
But I hated secrets more.
I turned toward Dr. Shaw.
“What happened to my mother?”
She answered carefully.
“When Isabella was seventeen, someone started spreading rumors about her family.”
My throat tightened.
“Like Sophie’s brother.”
Nobody responded.
I understood.
“Exactly like Sophie’s brother.”
Dr. Shaw continued.
“Your grandfather’s company was struggling. Your grandmother had filed for divorce. Certain students learned private information and used it against Isabella.”
“How?”
“We never proved it.”
My father made a sound under his breath.
“You never tried.”
Dr. Shaw did not defend herself.
That surprised me.
She said, “Your father is right.”
I turned toward him.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Since before I met your mother.”
My stomach twisted.
“What?”
He paused.
“Your mother and I knew each other when we were teenagers.”
That was another thing I had never known.
“You told me you met at Columbia.”
“We reconnected at Columbia.”
I stepped backward.
My cane hit a chair leg.
The noise startled me.
My father immediately moved forward.
I lifted my hand.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
I could feel the hurt in the silence between us.
But I needed space.
“How much of my mother’s life have you hidden from me?”
His answer came softly.
“Too much.”
That frightened me more than a denial would have.
Principal Hayes cleared his throat.
“This is obviously a family matter.”
Dr. Shaw turned on him.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
He said, “With respect, Eleanor—”
“No.”
Her voice became steel.
“You don’t get to use respect as a shield anymore.”
My father said, “Richard, did you know Isabella Grant?”
The principal’s breathing changed.
“No.”
Dr. Shaw spoke immediately.
“That is a lie.”
A murmur swept through the cafeteria.
Hayes snapped, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You were a teaching assistant here during her senior year.”
“I worked in the athletics office.”
“You also supervised student activities.”
“That was twenty years ago.”
My father’s voice became dangerously quiet.
“You knew my wife.”
“I knew hundreds of students.”
“You remembered Ethan Reynolds three years later well enough to make his family sign an agreement.”
Hayes didn’t answer.
My pulse accelerated.
“What agreement did my mother sign?”
Nobody spoke.
I gripped my cane.
“Did she sign one too?”
Dr. Shaw sighed.
“Her family did.”
I felt sick.
“What did it say?”
My father answered.
“They agreed not to pursue legal action.”
“Against who?”
He said nothing.
“Dad.”
He exhaled.
“The school.”
“Why?”
Another silence.
Then he said the words like they hurt him.
“Because your mother fell down a staircase after an altercation.”
I went cold.
“Fell?”
My father didn’t answer.
Dr. Shaw did.
“She said she was pushed.”
A chair scraped somewhere behind me.
Someone whispered, “Oh my God.”
My mouth went dry.
“Was she hurt?”
“Yes.”
“How badly?”
My father’s voice cracked almost invisibly.
“She spent six days in the hospital.”
I had never heard my father sound like that.
Not once.
“When?”
“October of her senior year.”
“And she came back?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She refused.”
My father moved closer but didn’t touch me.
“She finished the year with private tutors.”
I couldn’t understand why I was suddenly so angry with my mother.
It made no sense.
She was dead.
She had been hurt.
But I was furious that she had never told me.
Then I remembered.
I had been eleven when she died.
Maybe she thought she had time.
I whispered, “Who pushed her?”
Dr. Shaw said, “The school never determined that conclusively.”
My father’s response came immediately.
“Isabella knew.”
I turned toward him.
“Who?”
He paused.
“Dad.”
“Emma, this is not the place.”
“Who?”
His breathing changed.
Finally he said, “A boy named Victor Whitmore.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“Whitmore?”
“Yes.”
I heard Carter’s name in my mind.
Carter Whitmore.
The boy who kicked away my cane.
The boy whose father sat on the board.
The boy who had been protected again and again.
I whispered, “Related?”
My father answered.
“Victor is Carter’s grandfather.”
The cafeteria exploded.
Students talked over one another.
Phones buzzed.
Someone swore loudly.
Principal Hayes demanded silence.
Nobody listened.
I felt as though I were standing at the center of a collapsing building.
Carter had not known who I was.
I believed that.
But twenty years earlier, another Whitmore had tormented my mother in the same school.
What were the odds?
My father said, “That is why I’m taking you home.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“I’m not leaving until Carter’s father gets here.”
He froze.
“Why?”
“Because I want to know what he knows.”
Dr. Shaw said, “Daniel Whitmore has already been called.”
Principal Hayes spoke quickly.
“I don’t think putting Emma in the middle of—”
“I am already in the middle of it.”
The doors opened before he could answer.
A man’s voice boomed across the cafeteria.
“Where is my son?”
Carter shouted from the hallway.
“Dad!”
The man stormed inside.
I heard fast footsteps.
Expensive leather shoes.
Heavy breathing.
Two school security officers followed.
Daniel Whitmore did not sound like his son.
His voice was deeper.
More controlled.
But the entitlement was identical.
“Who put their hands on Carter?”
Dr. Shaw answered.
“He attempted to intimidate a student witness.”
“My son says he was assaulted by Moretti’s security.”
My father said, “Your son moved toward a frightened sixteen-year-old girl while threatening her.”
Daniel stopped.
Then he laughed once.
“Of course.”
My father’s voice chilled.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I should have known this had something to do with you.”
The entire room went quiet.
I tilted my head.
Daniel Whitmore knew my father.
Not professionally.
Personally.
I could hear it.
My father asked, “Have we met?”
Daniel laughed again.
“Not properly.”
He stepped closer.
“But my family has been hearing your name for more than twenty years.”
My father did not respond.
Daniel continued.
“And now your daughter shows up here under a fake identity.”
I snapped, “My identity isn’t fake.”
He ignored me.
“You place her in Westbridge without your surname, your foundation starts negotiating a donation, and suddenly my son is accused of being some monster.”
“He took my cane.”
Daniel went silent.
I stepped toward his voice.
“He made me crawl for it.”
His response came after a long pause.
“I’m sure there are two sides.”
A wave of anger went through me.
“That is your side?”
“You’re a teenager.”
“So is your son.”
“Exactly. Teenagers make stupid mistakes.”
Noah shouted from the back.
“Was stealing my hearing aids a mistake too?”
Daniel hesitated.
Another student spoke.
“What about the kid they locked outside during the winter formal?”
Then another.
“My sister transferred because of Carter.”
The cafeteria grew louder.
Daniel raised his voice.
“Enough.”
My father said, “Interesting.”
“What?”
“You and Hayes use the same word when people start telling the truth.”
Daniel’s tone hardened.
“You don’t know anything about my family.”
My father took one step forward.
“I know Victor Whitmore.”
Silence.
Daniel’s breathing stopped.
Only for a second.
But I heard it.
Then he said, “My father is dead.”
“I know.”
“Then leave him there.”
I tightened my grip on my cane.
“What did your father do to my mother?”
Daniel didn’t answer.
I repeated the question.
“What did Victor Whitmore do to Isabella Grant?”
Daniel stepped backward.
I heard his heel strike a chair.
That tiny sound told me more than any confession.
He knew her name.
Dr. Shaw said softly, “Daniel?”
He recovered.
“I was a child.”
“That wasn’t my question,” I said.
“I don’t know anything about what happened.”
My father asked, “Then why did you know exactly who Emma’s mother was?”
Daniel’s answer came too late.
Principal Hayes interrupted.
“This has gone far enough.”
Dr. Shaw snapped, “Stay out of it.”
But Daniel was already moving.
Toward the door.
I heard him grab Carter.
“We’re leaving.”
“No,” Dr. Shaw said.
“You cannot hold my son here.”
“The investigation—”
“My lawyers can speak to your investigators.”
Carter muttered, “Dad, my phone.”
Daniel stopped.
“What about your phone?”
“They took it.”
Dr. Shaw said, “It is being preserved.”
Daniel’s voice became suddenly sharp.
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
“Eleanor.”
“No.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Then Carter made the mistake that cracked everything open.
“Dad, I already deleted the messages.”
Daniel Whitmore went completely silent.
My father asked, “What messages?”
Carter realized too late.
“Nothing.”
Daniel grabbed him.
“Stop talking.”
My heart pounded.
“What messages?”
Carter did not answer.
Sophie whispered from beside us.
“The group chat.”
Madison started crying again.
Dr. Shaw said, “What group chat?”
Sophie swallowed.
“Legacy.”
My father asked, “What is Legacy?”
Sophie answered.
“A private chat for some Westbridge students.”
Daniel Whitmore said, “We’re done.”
But Sophie kept talking.
“They call it Legacy because all their parents or grandparents went here.”
I heard Madison sob.
Sophie continued.
“Carter posts things there.”
“What things?” I asked.
“Photos.”
My skin went cold.
“Of me?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
She hesitated.
“Since your first day.”
I could barely breathe.
“I had only been here three weeks.”
“I know.”
My father spoke through clenched teeth.
“What did they say about her?”
Sophie’s answer was almost inaudible.
“They were taking bets.”
“On what?”
Nobody answered.
Then Madison suddenly blurted out, “On how long it would take to make her leave.”
My entire body went numb.
My father said nothing.
Dr. Shaw said nothing.
I heard Daniel Whitmore whisper something to his son.
Then Carter said the sentence that made every person in the room freeze.
“It wasn’t my idea.”
My father’s voice came low and controlled.
“Whose idea was it?”
Carter began crying.
May you like
And for the first time since I had met him, he sounded like a child.
“My grandfather left the list.”
