Chapter 9 - Autumn’s Bargain
Elena did not want Autumn inside.
Willa did not trust her.
But the bruise on Autumn’s face was real, and fear had stripped away the polished confidence she wore at school.
They let her enter.
Autumn remained near the door.
Her hands shook.
“Did your father hit you?” Elena asked.
Autumn touched the bruise.
“He said I ruined everything.”
“You helped him,” Willa said.
Autumn looked at her.
“I know.”
“That isn’t an apology.”
“I didn’t come to apologize.”
“Then leave.”
“I came because they’re moving the server tonight.”
Willa stopped.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then you’re useless.”
Autumn flinched.
For the first time, Willa saw something beneath the arrogance.
Not innocence.
But desperation.
Autumn opened her bag and removed the pages she had snatched from Counselor Bell in the hallway confrontation.
At that moment, the assault had not yet occurred. The pages were different records stolen earlier from her father’s office.
Names filled the margins.
Dates.
Payments.
Competition titles.
Teacher initials.
Willa recognized several students who had received awards.
Beside each winner was another name.
The source student.
The person whose work had been taken.
Her own name appeared beside Autumn’s.
Elena’s appeared near the top of the first page.
Willa stared at it.
“How did you get this?”
“My father keeps a handwritten index. The digital files use code numbers, but this connects the codes to real people.”
“Why give it to me?”
Autumn’s mouth tightened.
“Because my name is in the source column too.”
Willa looked again.
Near the bottom, Autumn Vale appeared beside a music composition awarded to another trustee’s daughter four years earlier.
“I wrote a piano piece when I was twelve,” Autumn said. “My father gave it to someone else.”
Elena watched her carefully.
“And you still stole Willa’s mural.”
“Yes.”
Autumn did not attempt to soften it.
“He told me that was how Ashbourne worked. He said talent belonged to the institution and the institution placed it where it created the most value.”
“You believed him?”
“I wanted to.”
“Why?”
“Because if I didn’t, then everything he gave me came from someone he destroyed.”
Willa felt anger rise.
“You had a choice.”
“I know.”
“You stood in front of cameras and repeated my words.”
“I know.”
“You watched them threaten my scholarship.”
“I know.”
Willa stepped closer.
“And when I showed proof, you called me a forger.”
Autumn looked at the floor.
“Yes.”
The honesty made Willa angrier than excuses would have.
“Why should I help you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
Autumn opened another folded document.
It was a schedule.
Tomorrow evening, Ashbourne would host a private donor reception in Founders Hall. The mural would be officially unveiled. Halcyon Fellowship representatives would attend through a live broadcast.
During the event, Richard planned to announce Autumn as the youngest ambassador of the Vale Arts Foundation.
“They need the scandal buried before tomorrow,” Autumn said. “My father ordered Principal Shaw to expel you in the morning.”
“Then I’ll release everything tonight.”
“You don’t have everything.”
“We have the boardroom recording.”
“He’ll say it was edited.”
“We have the security footage.”
“He’ll say Mr. Corwin was helping me prepare.”
“We have the server files.”
“Do you?”
Willa went still.
Autumn looked toward Elliot’s portable drive on the table.
“My father’s server creates false copies when unauthorized devices connect. Most files you downloaded will erase themselves when opened outside the network.”
Willa grabbed the drive.
Elliot had not tested it yet.
“How do we access the real files?”
“With a physical key.”
Autumn reached beneath her collar and removed a thin silver chain.
A small black device hung from it.
“My father keeps two. This is one.”
Willa took it.
“What does he keep on the server?”
“Everything.”
“Including my mother’s stolen art?”
Autumn looked at Elena.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Collection Seven.”
Elena gripped the table.
“Who owns it?”
Autumn hesitated.
Then she said, “The academy does not sell the stolen work.”
“What do they do with it?”
“They use it to build identities.”
Willa frowned.
Autumn explained that Ashbourne’s most influential families purchased curated histories for their children. Art awards, research prizes, charity projects, business concepts, and published essays were assembled over years.
Not to win a single competition.
To manufacture brilliance.
“The school creates future leaders,” Autumn said. “Not by educating them. By giving them achievements they never earned.”
Elena whispered, “How many?”
“Hundreds.”
Willa looked at the handwritten index.
“What happens tomorrow?”
Autumn’s eyes met hers.
“My father deletes the master archive during the donor reception.”
“Why then?”
“Because every board member will be inside Founders Hall.”
“And after it is deleted?”
“There will be nothing left to prove who created anything.”
Willa closed her fingers around the physical key.
“Then we take the archive before the reception.”
Autumn shook her head.
“You don’t understand.”
“What?”
“The server room you found is only a mirror.”
“Where is the master archive?”
May you like
Autumn looked toward the old photograph of Elena and Mr. Corwin.
“Behind the mural wall.”
