Part 7
Part 7 · 2 min read ·
I hadn’t cried. I hadn’t lost my temper. I had simply forwarded the email to my attorney, who issued a formal cease-and-desist letter advising my parents that any further attempts to contact me or pressure me regarding the criminal case would result in immediate harassment charges against them as well.
They had never replied.
My father had taken an early retirement from his accounting firm, unable to face the quiet whispers of his colleagues after the local newspaper published an article detailing the university cybercrime investigation. My mother had stopped attending her weekly bridge club and country club luncheons, unable to endure the subtle, pitying glances of the women she had spent decades trying to impress.
The artificial, picture-perfect facade they had sacrificed my childhood to maintain had been completely shattered—not by my success, but by the very cruelty they had enabled in their golden child.
A quiet knock at my front door broke my train of thought.
I closed the manila folder, stood up, and walked over to unlock the door.
Standing on the welcome mat was Dean Harrow, holding a leather satchel over his shoulder. He looked far less formal than he had on the graduation stage, dressed in a comfortable wool sweater and trousers.
“Good morning, Jessica,” he smiled warmly. “I hope I’m not interrupting your weekend.”
“Not at all, Dean Harrow,” I replied, stepping aside to let him in. “Please, come on in. Can I get you some coffee?”
“Black would be wonderful, thank you.”
I poured him a cup and set it on the table near the windows. He sat down, looking out over the Seattle skyline before glancing at the manila folder resting on the table.
“The final paperwork from the prosecutor’s office?” he asked softly.
I nodded, sitting down across from him. “Just the official closing documentation. It came in yesterday’s mail.”
Dean Harrow took a slow sip of his coffee, his expression thoughtful. “It takes an immense amount of courage to stand up to that kind of quiet, systemic cruelty, Jessica. Most people would have taken the easy way out—transferred to another school, accepted a quiet settlement, or simply allowed themselves to be pushed into the shadows.”