Chapter 61:


    “Now!” Grayson screamed. “Leave! You are killing the stock!”


    Victoria stared at her son. For the first time in her life, she saw that he was no longer her puppet. He was a man trying to save his wallet.


    She straightened her jacket and lifted her chin. “I see where your loyalties lie.”


    She turned and marched out of the box, the bodyguards trailing behind her like funeral mourners.


    Belle stood alone in the ss-walled room, exposed, trying to make herself small.


    ??e???? ????o?? у?????? ????????e ??? g??ln??????????.с????


    Isolde ended the stream. She saved the video.


    She looked at Grayson. He was breathing hard, sweat beading on his forehead.


    “Apologize,” Isolde said.


    Grayson gritted his teeth. “I’m sorry she said that.”


    “Not good enough,” Isolde said. “Apologize to Effie. For letting it happen.”


    Grayson looked at Effie. She was watching him with wide, fearful eyes. The drawing of the ck scribble monster shed through his mind.


    “Effie,” he began.


    “We’re leaving,” Isolde cut him off. She realized he wasn’t capable of it. Not really.


    She walked to the stage, lifted Effie into her arms, and took the certificate the stunned proctor was holding out.


    “Come on, baby. Let’s go get ice cream.”


    She walked out, her heels clicking a steady rhythm of victory on the hardwood floor.


    The auditorium buzzed with the aftermath of the hurricane. But Belle wasn’t done. Desperation made people do stupid things.


    She marched down from the box to the judges’ table, pulling a small piece of paper from her pocket. “Wait!” Belle shouted. “I found this! Under Effie’s chair!”


    She mmed the paper onto the table. “It’s a cheat sheet! I told you she cheated!”


    The Headmaster picked it up and squinted.


    Isolde stopped at the door. She sighed, turned around, and walked back.


    “Let me see that,” Isolde said.


    She plucked the paper from the Headmaster’s hand and held it up.


    It was a scrap covered in scribbled forms.


    “This,” Isolde announced, her voice dry, “is a mnemonic device for memorizing sequences of prime numbers, and a logic matrix for pattern recognition. Advanced material, certainly.” She looked at Belle. “You think my five-year-old cheated on a basic arithmetic and visual memory test using a cheat sheet designed for a graduate-level logic exam? The test didn’t even contain questions thisplex.”


    A ripple ofughter moved through the room. It was absurd.


    “And,” Isolde continued, her eyes scanning the paper, “this appears to have been printed on a SkyLine Engineering departmental printer. The footer code is specific to the R&D floor. Your floor, Belle. Should we have the IT department pull the print logs? I’m certain the board would be very interested in corporate resources being used to fabricate evidence against a child.”


    Belle’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “She… she must have stolen it!”


    “Enough,” Isolde said. “If you’re so convinced, let’s settle this. Re-test. Right now.”


    “What?” Belle blinked.


    “Re-test. Effie and Kaiden. Here, on stage. No paper. No pencils. The math professor asks the questions verbally.”


    .


    .


    .