A muffled, angry voice carried through the frosted glass.

“I don’t care if she’s in a meeting,” my father’s voice boomed. “That is my daughter in there, and she is using my stolen credit cards.”

The secretary’s voice rose in protest, but it was cut short.

The doorknob to Dean Vance’s private office began to turn, slowly at first, then violently.

Dean Vance stood up from her desk, her face hardening into a mask of pure authority.

“Stay here,” she commanded me.

She walked toward the door, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor.

My phone buzzed once more in my hand.

*Meet me at the diner on 4th Street in twenty minutes,* Sean’s text read. *Bring Arthur Pendelton if you can, but come alone if you have to.*

*They are watching me.*

I slipped the phone back into my pocket, my knuckles gripping the manila envelope containing my scholarship.

Outside the door, the lock clicked.

The door swung open with a heavy thud, hitting the stopper against the wall.

My father stood in the doorway, his tall frame blocking the light from the outer office.