“I am currently in a closed meeting with a student, and I will not be interrupted.”

She listened for another second, then set the phone back on its cradle with a deliberate click.

The silence in the office felt heavy, thick with the scent of old paper and stale coffee.

“He knows I am here,” I whispered.

My hands were shaking, so I pressed them flat against my thighs to keep them still.

“He has contacts in the registrar’s office,” I said. “He probably has a friend who flagged my account.”

Dean Vance leaned back in her leather chair, her gaze fixed on the closed wooden door of her office.

“Your father has no authority on this campus, Ava,” she said softly.

“But he has the money,” I replied. “And right now, the university wants money.”

She looked down at the red warning flag on my digital student file.

The screen cast a pale blue glow over her face, highlighting the deep lines around her eyes.

“The board does not like unpaid balances,” she said, her voice dropping to a murmur.